The sun poured down upon us, foreign sun, foreign warmth. We sat on a bench eating cherries.
Their sweet dark juice filled our mouths and our senses, overwhelming us with summer, and I remember I couldn't keep my eyes off you. On you.
Separated by other bodies, still we shared the cherries, our hands brushing as we filled them with plump weight. We shared their sinful sweetness.
Biting down, sucking greedily at the fruit, my tongue sought out the pit. I never know quite how to do it in company, and you didn't help.
So graceful in every way, your lean arms tossing the pits behind you, lips folding carefully around each cherry before pulling it in, you were every dream of sun and sweetness and the unknown. I ate and ate, filling myself with what we shared, becoming more like you with every mouthful.
I didn't mean for it to be about you. That, then, this. But it happened. Like this cherry that rolls from my fingers to bounce happily downwards, resting finally at your dusty feet.
