To Make Love to a Peach

Written by James Finlay

Art by 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

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