Words plum. Love peaches into the horizon.
But words plum. They hold you in their hand
sour and a reddish-purple and hopefully not mealy
on the inside. They’re smaller, shapely,
perforated by pock marks that don’t even sink
inside their skin, unless actually infected
& dangerous and must be sucked out
by a quick bite and spit into the trash.
Love’s pit splits open and who knows what’s
inside that poor thing. Does it grow at all?
The meat is what counts. It’s hard to swallow a peach whole.
Plums fall to the earth. Peaches over-cast the sky.
Love over-casts the sky. Words fall to the earth.