I am thankful for the way his soul sits on my lips.
It lingers there like sweet citrus on a hot sticky florida day.
Tangy and reminiscent like the joy of youth, my face twists in sweet and sour pleasure.  
He reminds me I don't need to carry the load of the past alone,
as he picks up my basket of oranges, sifting through the rotten ones, biting into the saccharine remains of who I used to be, while planting seeds and whispering to me all I will become.
The future never tasted so ripe.