• In a world of separation, art connects


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Sitting at her kitchen table

Watching her hum and dance to the radio

Barefoot and sexy in faded bell-bottom jeans

And a too-large man’s shirt that can’t hide her charms

She spoons canned peaches into a bowl

While I dig the way she moves

I’m not hungry but I could eat

And I like peaches

Then she pours milk in the bowl and ruins it

I hate milk

“Do you want some?” she asks, smiling sweetly

I say “No, thank you”

Being extra polite because I’m just nineteen

Because she’s twenty-one and thinks I’m a kid

So I’m on love’s probation

On my best behavior, trying to be a man

But I wish she’d not put milk in the bowl

Because I like peaches

She sits and raises her spoon to my lips

Again offering a taste of her fruit

I gaze at the sweet golden slice; so tempting

While she watches me, smiling…waiting…

Then I look at the vile white liquid

And shake my head

I really hate milk

She shrugs and eats slowly, relishing each mouthful

I watch each succulent slice disappear

Leaving white droplets glistening on soft puckered lips

I know those lips; in the last two weeks she’s given me a taste

But just a taste

She lifts the bowl to her lovely lips

And the top of her shirt falls open

I steal a glimpse of heaven

The swell of smooth vanilla wafer hued flesh

Her pink tongue flicks out

She finishes her milk like a kitten

While gazing at me with hooded eyes, smiling

Slowly, she licks the last drops of sweetness from her lips

She watches me watching her

That tongue, those lips

She closes her eyes and smiles

“Mmm… that was so good,” she whispers

I forget to breathe

I’m hungry now

She stretches like a golden lioness, full and contented

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” she asks again

I look at the bowl

The empty bowl

She watches me, smiling…waiting…

I’m just nineteen

Life’s mysteries are unfolding slowly

But I learn; I do learn

“Yes,” I answer, “Yes, I want some”

She comes slowly around the table to me

Barefoot and sexy

Faded bell-bottom jeans left on her kitchen floor

A too-large man’s shirt flutters away like a cotton spirit

Smooth vanilla wafer hued skin

So soft and warm

So sweet against my lips

I like Vanilla Wafers

And I really love Peaches

In memory of Diane P. (1953-1975), who left this world at the tender age of 21.

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The last update: December 2009.

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