Friday, June 18, 2021


There are peaches, perfect,
in the porcelain bowl
under a moon
of ripe unspoken desire.
I can see the high color
of cheeks above the dark red curve
of your lip waiting with sweetness
beneath the tree,
and I know that your juice
hiding in the shadows
is not hesitation, but rather
come hither to the bowl.

~William Hammett

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