To Make Love to a Peach

To Make Love

to a Peach Words James Finlay Artwork Lucy Keatch

If there were ever a food That enjoyed being eaten My bet would be on the peach Not segments in a can Brightly packaged Swimming in artificial syrup And preservatives To be slurped down in a moment At your convenience No I mean An honest to God Peach One you picked out yourself Ideally picked yourself From a tree in a friend’s backyard Placing your hand delicately on her body A moment before She falls willingly into your embrace Saying “Yes, my love, I will.” Before you start You must consider that At every moment With a peach You are eating the entire thing No segments like oranges or mandarins No neat pieces you can pull away Like apples of bananas No popping the whole thing in your mouth Like a grape or a strawberry No, with a peach Every bit of flesh must be torn And every piece must be given care At all times Whether held in the hand Or mouth You may dive right in If you’re determined To make a passionate mess But if you would rather savour Every moment the peach can give you You must first break it apart To do so you must find the seam Caressing the soft pliable flesh with your fingertips To find the sweet spot Where it will yield And then gently, Never be too rough Lest you destroy her, Sink your fingers in And open Let her break open as she will There may not be two neat halves Like an apricot who is so eager to please And be swallowed in two small halves You must get to know her as she breaks And learn where she is still firm And where she is bruised And you must work with these things Rather than ripping through all flesh equally But do not think That she has no power You may be the devourer But the peach will run down your chin Down your arms And make you look foolish As you struggle to contain her And there is no neat little ending Her little morsels cling To the deep little hollows of the pit On which you may suck Or pull out with your teeth That is Unless the peach has gotten the better of you And the pit may be too much sweet pleasure And you may wonder If it was as sweet for her as it was for you And her taste will remain on your fingers For the rest of the day Saying “Yes, My love, It surely was.” For that is the lasting joy That is all yours to savour When you make love to a peach.