Peach, Plum, Pear
We speak in the store.
I’m a sensitive bore.
You seem markedly more.
And I’m oozing surprise.
But it’s late in the day.
And you’re well on your way.
What was golden went gray.
And I’m suddenly shy.
And the gathering floozies,
afford to be choosy.
And all sneezing darkly,
in the dimming divide.
And I have read the right books,
to interpret your looks.
You were knocking me down,
with the palm of your eye.
This was unlike the story,
it was written to be.
I was riding its back,
when it used to ride me.
And we were galloping manic,
to the mouth of the source.
We were swallowing panic,
in the face of its force.
I was blue and unwell;
made me bolt like a horse.
Now it’s done.
Watch it go.
And you’ve changed some;
water runs from the snow.
Am I so dear?
Do I run rare?
And you’ve changed some;
peach, plum, pear.
