This Peach

A poem about love, not a peach.


1. This Peach

This Peach.                                         Mark this Peach which dangles from it's branch, so delicate;

the contours of its curves etched so perfectly against the piercing blue background of the clear afternoon sky;

its two drops of dew lying still above its breast, glistening like crystals with the crimson and blue of childhood magic;

these two drops of dew, one might speak for hours on these drops of dew- life transfixed within the smallest simplicity with a hypnotist quality;

the stalk, the long, slender stalk which holds the secrets of the earth firmly in its figure, strong and beautifully crafted to embrace the bow from which it stems, though so much more;

alas the Peach dances to the tune of the wind, slowly in a trance and then fast, marvellously fast, smiling;

this Peach, with the complexion of some golden fruit crafted by God and kept for man's first shrub;

how I long to eat this Peach, to pluck it from the sky and claim it as mine,

                                                                           devour it and let it devour me with its beauty;

though first I must grow, I stand but small and I own no ladder as mine own-

I'll reach and the Peach will surely watch as I fall short, but I'll reach this beauteous Peach one day,

stroke the elegant skin of this Peach and kiss this Peach;

this is, by design, my Peach-

                                                     there are none like this Peach, some similar, but this Peach is mine,

and I shall watch this Peach and water its tree to breed new life from its roots one day,

and love this Peach and cherish its existence,

its golden touch, cooling and yet warm;

this Peach be dear, and this Peach be lovely,

                                              for this is the most beautiful Peach in all the earth.

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