Partaking Of A Peach

In the orchard there glistens a certain peach and it’s always one of the hardest to reach, but that just adds to it's allure. With delicate balance and ballet command and a slight tug of war between branch and hand The peach picks me, of that I'm sure. I'll explore the whole of its blush colored skin and savor aromas of juices within anticipating their release. I'll caress it so softly with finger tips and kiss its soft curves with my wet parted lips, tongue running the length of its crease. Then the moisture from both without and within will result in  parting  the guardian skin and the swollen fruit will be freed. And I’ll burrow deeper, and  reach deeper still almost insatiate in getting my fill until I touch, at last, the seed. I find it firm and moist and lodged so secure like the heart of the universe, as it were, and perhaps it has always been. I feel it swell and heave and finally burst and then it collapses fulfilling my thirst, until it blooms and calls again.None Written August 12th, 2001 © on Oct 02 2001 06:23 AM PST   0 • 16