I eat one single peach at night


Who could guess that your softness was a form of armor?
Sentient fuzz—not cuddly. God,
the whites of you— that cream,
that one-thing,
                           blushing, curving.
The juice of it all, irrepressible. Against all
you’d win.
Bright round, cleave,
stiff-necked, swerve. Nothing more than you.
Sow, wilt. Sugar, sinker.



C’est La Vie

First fell the angels.
Second fell their father.