Peaches and Icicles

[luvlymish]

There are moments,
like soft-fuzzed peach skin
wrapped around icicles
so far I've caught
every
single
one,
As it was thrown, dropped,
Or inched across my skin.

Those moments
When I forget who you are.
Or else
I know exactly
But my eyes miss the web
from which you spin.

Your eyes laughing into mine
your arms around my waist
your hands stroking down my back
Though my back seems lower lately.
For half a second of fuzz I stop thinking
and then the icicle comes.

And
it's easier to close my eyes
Against your chest and
breathe you in
Or rub my cheek against
The roughness of your chin
And pretend the peach wins.