Your name leaves a complicated taste in my mouth.

There’s sweetness,
like nectar that slips down a butterflies’ proboscis.
It reminds me of your touch —
legs draped over yours on that sunny day,
hand in hand.

But there’s also sourness,
like lime on the edge of a tequila shot.
I don’t know what to do with it,
staining my tongue with bitter words
that make me sad to think are true.

Perhaps it’s also a bit salty,
like the ocean breeze we both laughed into,
or the tears that pool under my chin.

Yet, the punch,
that is from the day we said goodbye,
the day I grieved without knowing I was grieving.

Your name,
sharp in memory,
will soon start to fade, growing bland
like an unripe peach.