Georgia peaches fall at summer's end,
Autumn's brisk beginning.
Rumor is she tastes of sweet cream and honeysuckle nectar.
Like the flower blossoms she drinks from,
in the sticky summer heat,
her suffocating sugar-coated tongue becomes unbearable.
She licks her lips,
coats them in honey
and let's the words fall out of her lungs,
and into my arms supported by fragile bones.
My skin is mere satin and it feels as though it's melting off my body and seeping into the rich summer soil under Georgia's feet.
I'm peeling off layers of myself,
to help her grow.
It does not feel as if I've lost something,
but more so that i've become a part of her.
With every word that drips off her teeth and into the air,
every utterance of my name from her rose lips,
draws me closer to her.
Like her mind is a cosmic magnet that I'm bound to, with vines twisting around my feet,
lack of release.
I'm drowning in honey,
her sweet, enveloping poison.
Lies fell out of her like rotten peaches fall off trees when their skin has burst and their juice spills over the sides and into be leaves.
