You’ve ruined peaches for me. I can’t eat one without thinking of your hands dipping into my soft flesh, mouth dripping, teeth skimming across skin, tongue lapping at the excess: greedy, greedy, greedy. I am all rush and blush at a summer picnic lunch, hands shaking at the farmers’ market.
Trista Mateer, “Peaches,” The Dogs I Have Kissed (via lifeinpoetry)












