Wicked - Poem by James McLain
is it wicked of me if i;
buy a peach and it's too soft and ripe.
what if after words
it does what you thought
it would do
and then it well,
and you know my fingers are more than,
any thing they do
and still you would have me, *sigh*.
what if i
pick the next one up,
and squeeze out the center
and 'lord' it does it too.
i keep running my fingers all around it,
in and out of it
and underneath it to.
like those all around me do.
yet still it's so peachy
and they all remain as they were.
and watching yes
they laugh so hard and most of them they knew.
i guess i can always wipe that juice off.
but i'm thinking what if i do,
what if the best i miss
and pass them by.
could i leave the best behind.
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