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A stoned fruit
Apricots are mealy
Plums don’t soften
so easy
Their skin
splits
Rather
than softens, Peaches have
dimples
and
bruise easily
I press
one finger down
On
the speckles of pink
red and
purple dotting
the skin, A faint,
faint reminder of
where
you’ve been trading
marks, brandished by
teeth
and lips
A little forget me
Not,
offerings worn and will
fade, how delicious
you taste as
the juices
flow, nothing
Nothing so sweet
As
a peach between
my teeth