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