white peach

the bruise is a sugar trap.
needs to be eaten quickly 
& without protest. 
where did you fall & who harvested
your dazzling pit? i have been searching
for mine for years. sometimes
with a lover
i will ask them to open their mouth
wider
so i can see if it is just beyond
their teeth.
when it rains i melt like dandelions. 
my flesh is a sick palace.
a boy removes his hand
from my back.
he's left an imprint there.
i assure him, "by morning it will be gone."
that is not true. i will have to take
a paring knife & eat it by
candlelight. 
how close have you gotten
to confessing everything?
i used to be paranoid that people
could read my thoughts
but maybe i wish it were true.
they would have seen 
a candy shop. 
the bones i still suck on & the ones
that have turned into glass.
what i am most worried about
is that someone took the pit
& is going to plant it 
without me knowing.
that one day
i will find a tree
& start weeping. they will 
have done it wrong. too far
from other trees to bear fruit. 
when the moon comes my lonely plant
will feel a yearning for a holy place
when we were one. when we were
as small as we can get.
tell me, do you still believe
that you decide who gets to mark you?
it is what i tell myself but
my love, that is like saying
a bruise is a limb
instead of just old
plum-laden blood. 
the spoons are full tonight. 
we can tell one truth to each other
before we kill the sun. 
what do you swallow
only in the dark?