it is the way

everything comes around

how the snow melts

into the soil

soaking it –

the need to make it soft

and wet

before you can plant the seed

before the budding

and the blossoms start to grow

opening themselves

to give

and trust

and to take

the breathing of the wind

the warmth of the sun

and the feel of the rain

all vital

before the peach drops

and you scrape your teeth

across its skin

and the juice

drips from your lips


and moaning

from its sweet nectar

until nothing is left –

but the snow is melting

my dear


and plant your seed again

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Peaches

  1. The V Pub says:

    Fruit never sounded more erotic πŸ˜‹

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Brad Osborne says:

    Only you can make a stone fruit sexy! Well written and playful! πŸ‘

    Liked by 1 person

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