Peach

She smelled the fruit as soon as she came in. She followed the scent to the kitchen, and the peach was radiant, dusky rose and gold, its skin so plush she thought her fingertip might bruise it. She took off her light dress and threw it at her feet. She was completely naked. This was the day, the very hour to eat. She washed his ripe fruit, and bit and broke the skin. An intense tang, the underside of velvet. Then flesh dissolved in a rush of nectar. Juice drenched her hand and wet the inside of her wrist. The juice ran down her naked body, down her round chest. Her pink nipple hardened. She had forgotten, if she'd ever known, that what was sweet could also be so complicated, that fruit could have a nap, like fabric, soft one way, sleek the other. She took peaches to bed. It's always nice when someone else licks the peach juice off your chest.

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