Can you smell the peaches?
Because they are all I can think about-

My knees always
get the brunt of it all.
Between bed corners,
light poles,
and the even sometimes
the gum-y underside of tables,
there’s a passport
of popped blood vessels
sitting on my skin.

And while the pre-chewed
peppermint smell and
sticky residue fade,
the bruises linger
like a supermarket peach.

Soft with warm skin,
darkened from
tumbles of truck beds
and clumsy stockers alike.

Still sweet, but
visibly damaged
from hands too unkind
to put me back on the shelf.

Maybe I’ll get chosen anyway.
Or maybe I’ll rot
in this ******* Georgia heat.
But I guess
I have to be patient.
After all,
the season
is just getting started.

as this sunrise

gives me a blanket of comfort

irreplaceable by women; i bring my head to ground

the presences is seized by the morning.

imagine, your scent to wander this place.

the lavender trails, the roses to follow

the honey to study, the water to admire

and the peach to taste

the skin is ****; the fruits is underneath

to my eyes, it will be a taste to remember

the juice release a call of appreciation

for a touch to outline the color

anxious, impatience, to feel the sunrise it is

on my lips as my tongue believes in it

to be the only fruit left; i will savior every bit

until the peach is ready

but i will not be here

when it will grow it’s garden

for i have fallen in love

and the thought has harden

it will be broken; this love is not meant to be

at least; not in the way that i have felt

my acceptance of news comes with jealousy

i was so hopeful of time to be spent

as the roots unraveled all of their thought

inside of the soil, the exteriors grew itself.

the color diversify what the eye will see

a forest now; enchanting my view with the green

as the scent of the petals ****** my will to resist

i know, that this garden is not home

although; i got to kiss

the sweetest of peaches

i am not yours

so with me i’ll take

all of my love; into my backpack

and travel these roads again

until i stumble on a view; that i have not yet.

but please all that i ask

is you let my trail

not be covered; and let my path be one you remember.

I feel like lemons and limes
Sprinkled in sugar
The sour, covered
Soaking in the sweet salt
To become tangy

Maybe I’ll become a peach
Sugary to the pit
Dipped in honey
And brown sugar
Finally mature

I keep finding peaches
Peaches
I don't think it's possible to not smile when you say the word
they turn my cheeks the same color as their skin
it makes me grin and laugh to see them sunbathing on the banister
lining the window sills like shining trophies
on my porch like children climbing to Set upon the tallest object They can find
beaming as children do

Maybe it's cuz I grew up in the south
Knowing you have to set them out And wait for them to be soft to
     the touch
let them ripen in the Sun so you can then pick your fruit that up
     until now has been forbidden
it's like a little fuzzy ball of gold Sunshine warming your face and
     your mouth
I love the word peaches

maybe it's the memory,
the name,
Peaches
“chin up, peaches”
it carrie's such an innocence such a light-hearted, free-spirited
     happiness.
something warm and welcoming and something I could only find at home

maybe it's the breakfast
peaches and cream
three ingredients
so happy, so creamy, so sweet, smooth, summary, comforting
it's what my grandma would give me
so sugary, yet so filling
it reminds me of her
it tastes how she act
it is her hyperbole
peaches and cream is a grandmother
it's as sweet as her voice
as comforting as her touch
as filling as her hug
and as smooth as her skin.

maybe it's all three
either way
this time of Peach field windowsills will come again next year
and the year after that
and the year after that
until I am the grandmother they represent
and every year, I will smile.

Smells like sleep,
Like sweat,
Like peaches,
Like fall,
Like clean hair,
And not so new,
Shoes.

Like skin
Like soft
*like you