oliver, oliver. the name rolls off the tongue.

a tuesday afternoon in homeroom. all us third-graders were huddled on the floor in big beanbags watching a documentary on the moon landing.

he had taken my hand and pulled me under a table. he was sucking on a red lollipop. his brown eyes glimmered in the dark. he had blushed and kissed me right on my mouth.

one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

that strawberry kiss lingers on my flesh, embedded in the cinnamon cells of my epidermis. he will never leave. if my tongue licks the left crevice of my lips, i can still taste sugar.