My Wife is Delicious Among the bags of groceries…a peach peered out. I caught it staring at me through the corner of my eye. A million or more electric eels squirmed through my veins. Steadfast, I spooned another trio of Cheerios. I rose and approached this Cleopatra-like peach. She was soft and feminine, Yet, firm enough to suggest, “Don’t fuck with me.” She seduced me into taking a bite. Yellow juice trickled down my chin, Sweetness and fearlessness danced on my tongue. Shakespeare wrote a “peach is a peach”, Or something like that, But I’ve had brief affairs with apples, pears and even other peaches. This was no ordinary fruit, Shakespeare was wrong! This peach had drank in photons from the sun And had absorbed the wisdom that comes from a billion years of burning hydrogen. This peach had transcended the small-minded tree from childhood. This peach was schoolgirl laughter. This peach was warmth and passion and “I’ll guide you to be a man.” I can only appreciate that I found this peach Or this peach found me, From skin to flesh to pit, This peach has made me whole.