poem: "Dare I Be the Peach?"
Jan. 10th, 2012 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fannishliss[this is an original poem, for my friend ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roguebitch, who wanted something about women, sex, and aging]
Dare I Be the Peach?
I'm no peach,
unblemished, firm and fair,
fresh flesh prepared to bear an heir--
but yes, I am a peach,
ripe and luscious,
first fruit, juiciest, most delicious.
I'm no green thing, left to ripen on a shelf --
my hour of delectation I determine for myself.
Yes, I am sunlight distilled,
tender rain and tended field,
the flower and the bee,
the well-trimmed tree,
the journey to the stall,
bruises and all.
But no, I don't sit waiting,
flaunting, baiting,
calling all comers
with the headiest of odors.
A flash of gold, a blush of rose:
my qualities are subtler, headier than those --
it requires a deeper discernment to discover
with what pleasures I requite the better sort of lover.
With lips and tongue and teeth I'll suckle in
as trails of oozy sweetness track my skin.
Fingers delving deep, the sweet flesh drips--
a quiver in the belly, a shake of the hips,
a sigh, an eyelid flutter at such delight.
One last kiss to sticky fingers,
licked clean, tucked out of sight.
Now, as for the pit,
that stony heart, the core
of secret germinations, it holds in store
within, the ideal: the idea
of the tree
still branching out
into sublimity---
copyright 2012 -- all rights reserved.
roguebitch, who wanted something about women, sex, and aging]Dare I Be the Peach?
I'm no peach,
unblemished, firm and fair,
fresh flesh prepared to bear an heir--
but yes, I am a peach,
ripe and luscious,
first fruit, juiciest, most delicious.
I'm no green thing, left to ripen on a shelf --
my hour of delectation I determine for myself.
Yes, I am sunlight distilled,
tender rain and tended field,
the flower and the bee,
the well-trimmed tree,
the journey to the stall,
bruises and all.
But no, I don't sit waiting,
flaunting, baiting,
calling all comers
with the headiest of odors.
A flash of gold, a blush of rose:
my qualities are subtler, headier than those --
it requires a deeper discernment to discover
with what pleasures I requite the better sort of lover.
With lips and tongue and teeth I'll suckle in
as trails of oozy sweetness track my skin.
Fingers delving deep, the sweet flesh drips--
a quiver in the belly, a shake of the hips,
a sigh, an eyelid flutter at such delight.
One last kiss to sticky fingers,
licked clean, tucked out of sight.
Now, as for the pit,
that stony heart, the core
of secret germinations, it holds in store
within, the ideal: the idea
of the tree
still branching out
into sublimity---
copyright 2012 -- all rights reserved.
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no subject
Date: 2012-01-11 02:31 pm (UTC)Oh.
That is magnificent. Love the title, love the imagery, love the fact that I can liken myself to a ripened peach, round and juicy and delicious.
You do tend to meet, then exceed, those challenges, don't you?
Thank you!!! *loves*
no subject
Date: 2012-01-11 02:48 pm (UTC)I did a little itunes hopping and read some good poems by poet Patricia Spears Jones, had several false starts and one agonizing surprise crash of my text program!!! then suddenly there it all was. YAY!!
A great way to start the new year with a poem about living life to the fullest. :D
thanks very much for your lovely comment -- I'm very glad you enjoyed it!!