Peaches (poem)

Peaches

You know they’re ripe when

they smell like July- sweet like

roses, tender when separating skin

from flesh with eager lips. To taste

such yielding fruit is to feel whole

again, to feel each bruise of the skin

weigh down like trees that

gave them to the earth, when

they got too heavy with sugar

and snapped,

tumbling on soft grass until they were picked

for the market, tossed into brown bags

like cellars. Cut them open,

and see their yellow faces

glow like the warm sun, tasting the sweet

stony fruit of summer.

– The Finicky Cynic

Check me out on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/thefinickycynic

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s