Interlude: Peaches

Peaches.

At the very base part of my brain is a craving
for sweetness.
Not just any old sugar will do it, but something special. Rare. Orange blushed red.
I dream of you during the long winter nights.
Peaches. Your skin speckled and bright,
Clinging to the tips of branches like your flesh clings to the stone.
Peaches. I put you in cans
that wait down in the basement. In the dark, to be revealed. The feel of your firm sweetness in my
hands
is something I hold in mind.
And yet no dreams of peaches.
Only the anxiety of being out in the storm
of missing the day of the test
of snow in the eyes
of losing a lens and everything is blurred as the flakes
accumulate
and challenge my ability
to survive on this planet. In this universe.
Where a large,
sweet,
creamy
peach is rare.
But deep in the cold season
the memory of you persists
and the sweet taste of summer
every day
every year
gets me through
to the next time
I bite into you.