It tastes like you. The rush, the thrill, the novelty. Pressing it to my lips. The driftwood behind my back. That endless lake, the setting sun, our handprints in the sand.
Salt tears and blood. The tensity and an allergy. The cold that I'll inhale. Bruises and your hand at my waist.
Bandanas, denim and soft plaid shirts. Mine and yours and maybe a mix. Sweat beading at my neck before I lift my hair. Leather cuffs and the tang of their metal buckles.
Daisies and a hard dirt trail. Labatt beer, wild strawberries, foam and that photograph. Dust.
It tastes like you. I'll hold my breath and wait for the bitter aftertaste.