your auburn locks are drowning
me in a peachy aroma
(not peachy like the hip kids
mean when something is alright)
more the overwhelming smell that
draws hive after hive of bees to
a fresh spring orchard.
but escape, let the bees have their fruit,
as alone at an ocean peak i stand,
offended by the way the waves
explode against the sand;
something too violent(physical)
to be shared with something beautiful.
so i say, shall i muss up your auburn
hair (and have my fingers tasting
of the sugary sweet of peaches) ?
destroy the ocean walls (violent,
too harsh for tranquility)?
and i reason, i am too wanting of
(wait until high tide has passed my love
to tempt the seas)
So I lick clean my fingers,