The fruit is so perfect.
Like hot pie on the windowsill.
Thick smoke billowing and curling.
I’m so hungry but I can only get an eyeful.
Look at the dew roll down the fuzz.
Drooling, wide-eyed, fascinated.
My eyes follow it, because you dangle like a treat.
You can look but you can’t touch.
Marvel, goo goo eyes, spit drips down my chin.
I just want a bit,
A piece,
A taste,
The leftover juice on the rim of your lips.
I try to do something else like turn away.
But I’m so powerless and hungry.
So I ate them until I began to gag.
The peach is bitter and mushy in the center.
I think to myself the plastic peach rings might be better.
I am hollowed out in my center like the peach pit is discarded.
Take your fruit and convince you the seeds are worthless.
Mouth full of peach like a fool.
Sticky things to keep me stuck.