Peaches by yasmin ahmad

Bathing,

in the blossom

of our love,

I am suffocated by

it's rotting.

It happens

that it happens.

When a man and a woman

first meet,

they are at their

kindest,

most polite,

most

considerate.

Never again,

from that moment on,

will they be

as sweet,

or will their

smiles be

as genuine,

or will their eyes be

as playful,

or will their longing be

as pure

or as powerful,

as on that first

accidental meeting.

It is as though

a heart that falls

in love

were

a peach

at the peak of

it's ripeness;

plump

and velvet to the touch,

but destined

to decay

and decay.

Would it that

the heart could love

a lover

with as much

conviction,

and as few

conditions.

as when it loves

a friend.