Firm as fact.
Sweet as certainty.
My knife parts velvet skin,
slices through yielding flesh
to bite the channeled stone within.
Each taste, ripe and real.
Triumph over falsehood.
Antitoxin to hate.
Each taste, a tonic to these days
of discord.
Burden me –
O please, I beg you –
burden me with the blessing
of Summer’s remaining peaches,
and I may indeed survive…
3 Comments
I can almost taste that. I love the scent of peaches.
I love everything about peaches — taste, touch, scent; the ultimate payoff to delayed gratification. It’s a lot of expectation to lay on a humble stone fruit, but they can take it! 😉
They’d better take it! 🍑 🧡