First his name is sweet, like iced tea and summer sunsets. He's like a sugar rush, your heart abuzz, your stomach twists and ties in knots, and you smile. His name is like laughter, doves in the rafters, a breeze in the garden, ice cream and chocolate and cherries.
But some nights there is no moon, and some nights you can't see the stars.
So then his name turns bitter, gets caught on your tongue like wire, barbed and bruising. His name is a secret that can't be shared. Your stomach is too twisted, not with butterflies, there's blisters and bruises and bleeding and scars. He's become ice and he's become fire, the fear of desire, and you've remembered too late that cherries have pits.
