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Betty 2d
Peaches at first bite
Soft skin yellow gold within
Summer on my chin
gracie Apr 2021
Little white sheep on a faded blue pillowcase
          your hair strewn across like a
sleepy blonde storm.

I’ve got the strangest feeling...

Last night I had a dream—perhaps a memory
          of you bathed in golden light,
                    pulling up fistfuls of grass
          and piling it on my bare knee.

          A voice low and purling
with the stream at our feet.
                    Silk on skin.
                              Lips on peaches.
                                        Pinky promises
                              on Sunday afternoons.

We wear socks to glide over the kitchen tiles
          humming along to an ancient song on the radio.
another old poem reworked
J Dec 2020
arms outstretched,
I reach for the stars
I was always told to want
only to find that I'm
tracing myself against
murky, illegal water
in pink nectar.
I'm too rough
unexperienced
nerves get the best and I
dip down ever so slightly
not bothering to take a breath.
as I slip under the fruity grip
the lake of liquid freedom
clouds my vision.
fear.
a calm, calloused hand
hardened from time
from life
from love
cups my cheeks and
breathes into me
with her
petal lips
sticky against mine
a reminder.
I float back up
before I get a good taste
I twist and turn against the current
hissing
against the surface
Solidago and Indian Mallow
smeared across the sky
reflecting against me
until I'm nothing
but the fuzz
of a peach
i love when women
Carl Miller Aug 2020
Nothing warms My heart more than a summer peach
Sweeter than honey and softer than cashmere
Summer sunflowers to brighten up the old oak shade
Tranquil drawl in a sing-song voice, a lullaby to my ear
You know You love someone when it makes Your heart happy to write a poem about them. I hope You enjoy this one as much as I do.
CKMIII
Tenant Aug 2020
Peaches
     /Tuesday/
Kingdom- Plantae
Genus-Prunus
Symbolism-softness, tenderness, but grounding in reality- foreboding my fantasy.

Used in prose:  peaches, with her plumpness, with her skin pressed against mine, seperated only by my budding insecurity. When will you go, will I be fine?
    If you are a peach, dangling from a tree, and I am only, A flower or the leaves. When will you drop? When will you plummet and with it, I wither and decay.
   If only I were a willow tree, no ornament linked, or if you could be plucked early, before sour becomes sweet?
tia Apr 2020
multiple weighty peach trees
outlined grief's path
lanceolate, broad, and pinnately veined
leaves cornered my view
of the clashing realities between faint rays
and the celestial dome

my sweet cries and pleads set into the sky
the atmospheric refraction
distorts all that is left of her being
an astronomical twilight will pass
and the dusk will swallow her wavelength

wandering into a new medium
surpassing the earth
and as the sweet color of peaches decomposes
becoming simple matter over time
her sun has set and mine will follow shortly
i dislike the ending line

i've never experienced death, but it certainly feels like your world is ending. i wanted to convey death in a different way and I like sunsets and peaches
so here we have this poem
I do rather like it, but it's not perfect :)
ALesiach Jul 2019
Warm days
Heavy nights
Lemonade
Mosquito bites

Dancing bees
Delicious honey
Sweet tea,
Yummy, yummy

Swimming pools
Shade trees
Staying cool
Ice cream

Summer showers
Juicy peaches
Budding flowers
Warm beaches

Vacation's over
School begins
Time's slower
Summer ends

ALesiach © 8/2016
no truth login Jun 2019
life choices cast in iron skillets,
presented choices that possess no flexibility

twice, she asks me today

morning fruitage, on offer,
peaches ripe to rip real sweet perfection
from your eyes to the remembering salivating mouth,
or
sweet but just **** enough
strawberries that will wince your tongue buds
intolerant of either, but perfect together

acorn squash,
over roasted to be the violin section
to your barbecued chicken orchestra serenading,
but which shall be the sweetener,
honey or maple syrup,
similar but different

the kitchen floor explosive shakes,
pans to the floor fall, eyelet unhooked all,
spices from cabinets burst forth,
kitchen mittens slapping each other
in utter disbelief

when I reply,
let us choose both!

for there is no bifurcation,
no line of demarcation
on our taste buds
this a truthful -
our lives a perpetual blending,
both will login lead to a
the right and proper ending
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