By Lilyann Bailey
A balloon of fresh juice coated my tongue — Pop! Followed by a smush that bedewed my thoughts. Twiddling three grapes between my fingers, there we won, the last parking spot for blocks at the shore. Green grapes are superior, but you preferred purple. A subtle battle of which tasted better to me — Pop! The darker grapes are usually sweeter. The shiny bundles lined a container atop your car. There we stood, listening to the spastic squawks of seagulls — Pop! The vines wrapped their twig arms around each bubble. The lighter ones are slightly more tart. Cars honked, showing recycled sympathy caught along the tide. Crowds flocked bonded like the bundle in my hands. Dewy drops of water kissed the barrier of my teeth — Pop! Fragile skin teared and the juice-filled veins bled. Your smile glared at mine. Purple grapes aren’t so bad.