The taste of oranges

Was it just the juice of oranges? Was it childish innocence? Was it just a summer barefoot-song? Have I swallowed it amiss? My mouth remembers tasting it - remembers it was sweet. Where is the salty flow of tears? Did sorrow soak into the soil – or run, or roll, into a wider sea? A sighing breath escapes. Has every piece of me grown up? Does any of that child remain? Do I desire to find her soul? Or, am I safer lying tame?