a soft peach she aches to hold
her petals of velvet now drawn closed
she desires them open
for she would run her fingers
along their gentle edges
awakening to her rosy sunrise
weeping
stretching
straining
burying her nose
breathing in her scent
she would caress her fruit
admiring her flower
lifting her limbs
entwining her fingers into them
plucking her fruit
her tongue sliding along her lips
sweet sticky nectar threading down her chin
songs as the whispers of spring leaves
‘come make love to me’
but she already has

tara caribou | ©2019

Read this and more in my poetry book, Four.