Kimichee

FINE

This is my life
crappy and small
no one will love me
or need me at all.
I’ll wither away
a bit at a time
pared down to the bone
no one to call me “Mine.”
I’ll walk like a shadow
down regular streets
I’ll pick through the garbage
with never enough to eat.
I’ll hold out my hands
I’ll silently plead
“Anyone out there,
won’t you help me?”
I’ll die every day
a bit at a time
I’ll whisper the lie to myself
that everything’s gonna be fine.

PEACH

The heavy weight of hottest summer,
sweat oozing slowly across heat bared skin,
the smell of sweet delicious flooding every sense.
Ripe flesh pulled taut over golden-hued globes,
juice threatening to burst out, sweet freedom, untouched,
mouth flooding wet with the need to taste,
to lick syrupy drops out of that split crevice,
to drink down every drop of ravaged flavor,
to bite down and consume,
to reveal the wrinkled knot hidden within.
Sucking on that core, lips pursing as tongue works,
wringing free every taste, face and hands sticky,
tongue tingling, scraping against the pinching crease,
nibbling away until every trace of flavor is gone,
the core is left damp with saliva;
desire lingers, but succulent flesh is completely spent.
All that’s left is to wait for time to bring ripeness and fresh fruit,
the sun heating fuzzy pink flesh,
as life renews, hungry desire comes again,
and golden-tinged globes swell with delicious fullness,
ready to taste.