“the perfect peach” by K. Nicole Wilson

I picked it,
the most delicious phrase
from Bianca’s love poem,

I picked it,
delicious and plump,
soft and ripe,
just a small bite
of ink in my back,
just a scratch,
a sip from a small batch,
taste with no match,

a single blade of bluegrass,

I picked it,
the perfect peach,
Narcissus reaching for his own hand,
blood from the bold brand
the nectar of my vanity.

-K. Nicole Wilson

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