Peaches by yasmin ahmad

Bathing,
in the blossom
of our love,
I am suffocated by
it's rotting.

It happens
that it happens.

When a man and a woman
first meet,
they are at their
kindest,
most polite,
most
considerate.
Never again,
from that moment on,
will they be
as sweet,
or will their
smiles be
as genuine,
or will their eyes be
as playful,
or will their longing be
as pure
or as powerful,
as on that first
accidental meeting.

It is as though
a heart that falls
in love
were
a peach
at the peak of
it's ripeness;
plump
and velvet to the touch,
but destined
to decay
and decay.

Would it that
the heart could love
a lover
with as much
conviction,
and as few
conditions.
as when it loves
a friend.




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