peaches follow winter

a seemingly silly epiphany stumbled upon me, 

as my palms cradled the rounded silhouette;

she, ever-alluring, was the reincarnation of spring,

however, instead of following the inconceivable nature of time, 

she clung close and intimate;

skin indenting crooked dimples into her two flushed cheeks.

and perhaps in the fleeting recollection of this prior incarnation,

she bloomed small woollen tendrils from her speckled skin

they were timid, ever translucent;

only a shield of soft wisps casting scattered shadows

under the piercing warmth of the peeking sun.

nostalgia stirred, like flickering pollen pecking the round of my nose,

her tickling continued to etch itself into the grooves of my palms, 

tugging a soft chuckle to tremble from my suddenly parched lips. 

my teeth lunged in a fervent spur to indulge in the forbidden fruit;

like molten lava, her shell erupted, flesh drooping in rich honey,

spilling sticky beads, trickling along the slide of my throat, 

savouring the slight twinge of burning acidity.

for spring follows winter, her fiery vibrance coaxing the shivering

lone wanderer into a fantastical garden of ecstasy.