In that hot summer of sticky skin,
Pulp stuck in gums of our stifled grins,

You licked limeade from my citric lips,
Then went spelunking in pitchers of it

Maybe the fructose was high,
But the syrup felt simple,
So I drank my fix straight from your dimples

Then all at once - your sweetness drained-
All limey alchemy wrung from your brain-

...and so went my first name
(Why won’t you say my name?)

Acid corroded my skin, now blistered and sore,
But I’m still sweet for you at my core

Are you sour at your center?
Or just tough on the rind?
I hope sugar from limeade lingers in your mind