POETRY: PEACH – Robert Beveridge

Peach

I can smell the scent
you left in the room
these hours later, faint
in the air, stronger
on a discarded bra,
your T-shirt, the pillow.
It is the freckled copper
of your skin, pale ripe
sweetness of lip and tongue,
the flesh full to bursting
with juice, so ready
the touch of a tongue
would cause it to ooze
its sticky sweetness.
Here in this bed I wait
for you to come home,
dream of peaches.
~~
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