fruit punch lips

twelve.

it's July and I'm thirsty and all gangly bruised knees. I down my last water bottle and she joins me, walking through my backyard that is flush with gardenias. I can never get enough of her. I take her hand and kiss her cheek light as a bird. her eyes turn to me, full of spunk and sage.
"how do you think you are, wilkinson?"
"someone who loves you, park."