Love is like a fruit basket.
Apples: crisp, sharp.
Good for a little while, but eventually they brown.
Plums: dark and juicy.
Sweet, but when they dry out,
They become prunes.
Peaches: soft and sweet.
A summer love,
hot and heavy.
Laughter echoing down an empty road at midnight.
Empty except for two lovers.
Soft hands gripping soft skin.
Lipstick smearing across hands and cheeks and necks.
I love you like a peach,
A woman to her love.
