E  v  
      e
    r
  y
so often I
like to think back on
that greasy summer- my hidden
lover. Teeth ripping into me like they
were devouring a sticky peach on a patio
near the beach; hungry and so full of desire.
Early eyes quivered as I suffered your satisfied
fingers on my thigh-  feeling the contusions that
replaced my pale pink skin. A felt existence left
devoted in moments like these-our compulsive
wrappings conceal the fortunes that can be
found only in one another. In a way, this
biblical dimension carries a perpetual
forgiveness and passion that play
together hand in hand.

I denude the skin off your
peach
To reveal the ripe
Hidden underneath.
I realize now that I've,
after that first touch
Of soul and mind,
Become a hedonist
For your lips.
A ****** for that special bliss
That makes you taste
So.
****.
Sweet.
Somehow you set me free
And bind me
Simultaneously.
My mind unbound ever since
I discovered new appetence
For the taste of your saccharine.
But I'm anchored into you
Cause this sensation occurs
Only when I'm with,
When I give in to urge
And appease my senses,
When I partake,
And I taste
That Milky Way
That is
You.

A glimpse of peach
Succulent on a cloudy day
Canines plunge through the skin
Piercing through a sea of flavor
As colors collide
The bleeding red pours into crimson
Casting darks to my swallow
A tempest of treasures
Exploding on the buds of my tongue
Within the sultry dripping
Of these wet lips I use to kiss
To plant upon you
My darling
My peach

There is a threshold at the heart of a peach--
between the wooden pit and the golden flesh of fruit.
There lie a few red, raw strands that are, impossibly, both.

The Pit [Endocarp]: Birth/Death.
The most treelike part.
Bark balled into a fist.
Inside hides the genetic beginning and future of all peach trees.

The Fruit [Mesocarp]: Maturation.
                  The delicious and beguiling, round flesh that attracts those who will scatter the seed. It tastes of sweet summer months.
Grown to be devoured,
the fruit is an ephemeral sacrifice ensuring the seed will find soil
take root
and make more of its kind.

I feel as if I'm at the red, rimmed divide between the two.
There is still so much bark from my parent trees at my core, yet I'm starting to soften into my own shape.

I know there will be a feast or a fall in these coming years and both mean a survival (of sorts).

tree your bough is resplendent
with the delight
that taunts me so
I espy her as she grows
my eyes are transfixed
by her glowing complexion
days go too long
quell my waiting pangs
coiled are my feelings
her essence appealing
to the taste buds
provoking her skin is smooth
and a flesh so succulent
bring her to maturity
she drives me mad with insanity
ripening to her full perfection
of purity
longing my heart strings
fracture
wanting the reward
ready to pick
the mouth exhausts
to caress her fruit