Yesterday, I saw a peach

at the green grocer’s.

She was every ray

of summer light

compressed

into soft, warm,

gently yielding skin

and juicy pulp.

I held her to my lips

and breathed in

her memories of sun showers

and cool sparkling dew,

hot dry breezes

and the shadows

of hungry pecking birds

circling above waiting

for a taste of her.

But they are denied.

This delicious golden blush

is all mine.