Eating the Peach

In a garden nook I found
A tree whose fanning branches bore
A hundred peaches, ripe and round,
And, riper yet, a hundred more.

Arched against my hidden tree,
I stretched as far as I could reach
And from its lush, green canopy
Plucked myself a plump, pink peach.

I lazed within the leafy shade
And stroked the fruit. Then, all alone,
Between my legs, both blithely splayed,
I brushed its fur against my own.

The touch was pleasing (as I pressed
It gently to my warmth within):
As firm as any lover’s breast,
As smooth as any maiden’s skin.

The pungent perfume stained my hand
With scents so rich and salty-sweet
That all restraint could not withstand
The tempting of this lovely treat.

The flesh was golden, pinkish red
Beneath its burnished, velvet coat
And, as I bit, its juices bled
In rivulets upon my throat.

My fingers caught the juicy tide
And, rubbing it against my slit,
It mingled with my own inside:
I loved the tangy taste of it.

I gorged upon my luscious peach
And, sucking on its pink, hard stone,
Two fingers stroked my sex and each
Found a pink pearl of my own.

My thirsty lips could not resist
The feast of Mother Nature’s prize
And, down below, my hungry fist
Pumped between my soaking thighs.

I licked my hand, my finger tips,
And madly as I sucked my thumb,
More madly did I arch my hips
Against the frenzy of my cum.

I venture to my secret tree
Whenever overcome by thirst,
Its endless bounty quenching me
As splendidly as did the first.