Denim shorts smell like old pennies when they’re soaked in rainwater.
The room smells too clean to have me up on the stage, dripping wet, in front of thirty people
Forming a puddle on the dull scratched black of the stage
Old pennies and wildflowers and soap and damp skin
I press my face into her shoulder and try to remember that this is what it’s like.
No one minds hugging if you’re soaked anyway.