Sweet syrupy sweet
On my lips
Flowing through every word
You whisper to me.
There is a sweetness in the air
Blowing close
Warm
Right by my mouth.
It races over my tongue
And I have not taken a bite.

Peach cobbler should be made with the perfect peach.
Light fuzz tickle on the skin
On my skin
Against yours

She is my hot peaches.
I want to bite
and taste her sweet drip
I'll wait for ripe
For season
The reason
She asked
Be slow
Take time
Don't rush
It will be done
Be steady
When she is ready
And when the moment cums
The cobbler will drip drops of pure
Heaven.

You can't rush a good cobbler
All the ingredients
Must match you
Your taste
Your appetite
Your timing
It must all work together
But nothing in the perfect cobbler will be perfect without
The perfectly sweet peach.





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