I am holding contentment in my hand.
Contentment is my peach.
Four peaches on a blue rimmed plate.
Did I pluck the peach from the blue
rimmed plate?
Did I pluck the peach from the
Cezanne painting?
I touch the soft velvety skin of my
peach.
My Persian fruit is sun warmed from
orange to yellow.
I open the peach with a serrated knife.
I smell the sweet scented delicate
aroma.
My fingers are wet and sticky from the
juicy droplets.
I taste the luscious succulent pulp.
One slice for you; one slice for me
Until I reach the rough textured almond
tasting stone.
I held contentment in my hand.
