Terzanelle: Stone

I am the peach, with poison seed. You stroke my skin and think me warm -- I’m death to every mouth I feed. Beneath the surface, insects swarm and seek to break this fleshy cage; you stroke my skin and think me warm but what you feel is buzzing rage that stings me as I cry, I cry and seek to break this fleshy cage. Inside the seed is dry, so dry, and cold enough to numb the thought that stings me as I cry. I cry for summers buried, children caught with icecream dreams, remembered sweets and cold -- enough to numb the thought. A last embrace for he who eats: I am the peach, with poison seed, with icecream dreams, remembered sweets, I’m death to every mouth I feed.