by Belinda Roddie
Sarah clung to Rachel's hips
and dipped her in front of the mirror,
kissing her hard on the lips and slipping
her fingers under the hem of her skirt.
Above their heads, the dancing had commenced
in the ballroom bedecked with gaudy,
pretentious charm, where boys twirled girls
and girls twirled boys, all dripping pearls
and bowties. The champagne was popped,
and a toast was drunk, while onto the bed
the two girls dropped, their mouths seeking
a target and finding just the right, warm spots.
Both wore red, but they burst the buttons and
stripped away the fabric that held back heated
red bodies. Sarah sang, and Rachel shrieked,
and once it was over, they both plummeted
into an electrified, humming sleep.