Love spills out from me in the form of words and tears and laughter.

I want to touch you and hold you and kiss you and love you so tenderly and with such softness that one wrong step could crush me.

Put me in your mouth and chew me up.
Take a bite out of my ripe, tender skin.
All you’ll find in this flesh, is love love love. Sweet and soft and juicy the way a peach bleeds.

When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.

In the midst of the night
We met and fell apart
We recognize each other and fought
And here we are standing back to back

We are so in love and believing
Like there is no ending
And we have to face the beginning
Of the fights, the sweetness and caressing

Forget about the stars
Left the strokes
Come to the evening
Where 'us' is better than parting

Smile is captivating
When it's genuine
Eyes are amazing
When it shine

You're like peach flower
That blooms in Japan
Your scent is as fragrant as peach
And I am here beside you still fallin'

You are a savage
Causing me so much damage
I remember when you treated me like a soft peach
Now I'm all bruised and battered
Like a peach in an all-night corner store
Now I'm crying on the floor
While you bang on the door
You say you love me, sure
I believe you, dad
No, I'm not mad
I don't hate you, I add
Stuck in this prison
Disguised as a castle
~23/3/21

caffeine free
orange-ish
yellow and pink
like candy
never too sweet

just a girl
but she's a peach
sparkling
pretty and keen
gentle
fruity and kind
pretty peach
i wish she was mine

Am I allowed to look at her like that?
Could it be wrong
When she's just so nice to look at?
And she smells like lemongrass and sleep
She tastes like apple juice and peach
Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture
And she...
Means everything to me
Oh, oh
I'd never tell
No, I'd never say a word
And oh, it aches
But it feels oddly good to hurt
And she smells like lemongrass and sleep
She tastes like apple juice and peach
Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture
And she...
Means everything to me
Oh-oh (ooh, ooh), ooh-oh
Oh-oh (ooh, ooh), ooh-oh
And I'll be okay
Admiring from afar
'Cause even when she's next to me
We could not be more far apart
And she tastes like birthday cake and story time and fall
But to her
I taste of nothing at all
And she smells like lemongrass and sleep
She tastes like apple juice and peach
Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture
And she...
Means everything to me
Yes, she means everything to me
She means everything to me

What happens to the peach when June
rolling like a playful child,
succumbs July?
Have we reached the bottom
of the hill?

Or do we roll onward, yellowing to brown?
Riper but never sweeter—-
Bruises from the fall bring with them
new hues