Peach

 

She's succulent
standing there
something about her
(riveting)


              I'm not quite sure what
  (just, suddenly, I've ripe fruit in mind)


Ebon hair, dark caramel eyes, pale skin with the flush of a peach across it, and a dusting of freckles all over


Whatever it is,


(We're both in line at the Post Office for what appears an interminable wait)


                 I'm fascinated
    (and drooling a bit, naughty me)


for she's ripe as that peach
          her glorious complexion
                                 brings to mind

I am trying
              (rather unsuccessfully)
NOT to stare

          But, all I can do is think of:
                              how she must taste

     Her skin: all peach flushed and rounded

     Her lips: all luscious and plump which she keeps licking

     Her curves: sweetly obscene making me ponder how one bites into juicy, ripe peaches and how the nectar cascades down one's chin

     Her hair: glossy midnight in the sun and cascading around us in silk while I bring her


She turns, catches my eye
(how could she not since I've been so very brazen)
glances my way as she leaves
and smiles (I smile back)


Betimes, those waits in line at the Post Office are so worth it...