you change from grapefruit to strawberry; it’s as startling as the first flower’s bloom. but the rain feels more like a new beginning, rather than the washing away of you.
I taste the marmalade on your tongue in the heat of the lemonade summer, as the sun bleeds mandarin into sunset that we are too sticky to notice.
your leaves turn from granny smith into a burning fuji and golden delicious until we finally put ourselves to rest, leaving only bare branches behind.
the citrus winter feels more sour than it ever did before. it’s hard to feel the blood orange warmth when the cold darkness creeps in.