Peaches

You say there is no way to know

but to know

you ghost your loops and whorls over reddened skin,

linger over the deep seams and high curves.

There is no way to know

but to know

your palm rounding, thumb denting the resistance.

There is no knowing

but to know

you drift closed and open

lift and breathe in -

push and close again.

You know

latching on with delicate suction,

pulling off,

the sweet of it deep

the wet of it long.

You know

if you had a knife,

every translucent shaving would

lay on your heat

like it was a benediction

like a blessing

a prayer.