Peach
Her body was always kind to me,
our garden - a sunny bath
for a luxuriant
peach tree.
On special days,
we would sit naked under its shade
to share
just one of its blushed,
luscious fruits,
it was our ritual.
As one, our tongues would drink
each other's thirst.
Moreover,
where the erotic crease of the fruit
dimpled inwards, our curling tongues
washed velvety skin.
A salacious consuming followed,
a nectarous bacchanal,
a drenching,
that we,
eager and laughing,
smeared over one another.
Her body was always kind to me,
even on moonless nights
her peach saturated my senses,
while magenta folds
flowered,
and a primal darkness
hung my mouth to her lips.
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