Happily thumbing through yesterday’s Seattle Times,
graced by a moment, as imperfect as a peach,
days before fully ripened
still it’s scent unlocks olfactory chambers
more powerfully lasting
than the trigger on a Semi-Automatic
like the earthy downy fuzz of a newborn’s head
perfection unexplained
if the texture isn’t right, if the peach
begs a crunch, albeit it should be an effortless gush,
from the invasion of my teeth;
fails to drip it’s fragrant juices down my chin;
alas-I will still appreciate peaches
the way I appreciate yesterday’s newspaper;
it’s good enough
