No one knows her, but I do.

Low taunt bodies with peaks and valleys, pools of sweat--poised, ready to break in their entanglement. Notes of humidity and grass dance around them.

Summer stands on the edge of a cliff, balmy and sticky. Contemplation floats above her. A few more months, and she'll take a step forward.

This is when she laughs and he groans. Her superiority is annoying and never falters, even when they're in his room. His room was always too small to hold her hopes. They break out of her mouth and crackle in her tangled hair, sparkle against her lips--she can't breath sometimes because they are too electrically charged. They singe his feathered wings and turn grey to black. Her eyes are always searching for his depth; she wants to see how far down she can get before he stops her or notices the intrusion--for surely it's not right, not polite, to be searching for such things:

She's testing her limits, you see. Testing the words, the feelings, against her mouth in dark, lone nights. Flexing her fingers against the white walls and her feet in the air. If she stares long enough, she feels like she's walking on the ceiling and she doesn't really exist.

It's not that she doesn't really exist though--it's that she's invisible and no one knows her.