Peach Purée


I don’t care if a peach looks nothing like
a human heart. Because when you slice
into one, the syrupy goodness that drips
all down and between the spaces
between your fingers; bares no less
resemblance to holding a human heart
freshly plucked, with its bloody
goodness seeping through all the
wrinkles and crevices on your hands.

And I like to think that this is exactly
how her porcelain fingers ripped my
heart out as she watched it violently
beat and pulsate between her rosy
palms. She probably squeezed it until
every drop of blood had been
exhausted. I bet that is why her eyes
and lips shine with glee at the sight of a
ripened or ripening peach. Because that
peach sure does look exactly like a
human heart.

No wonder the peaches from her hands
were the sweetest. Given that I had
never, before having met her, tasted a
sweet peach in all my years.


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