flesh
Bridget Groff
the peach pit dangles
from sinew and dead meat,
from precociously ripening
itself to ruin
the fruit once filled with juice,
sugary blood held in veins
of stomached sunlight,
is now fragrant with decay
it has outlasted its skin
yet it continues to hold firm
amongst the fruit flies
until at last it is a skeleton
no greater purpose it has than this
to support the weight
of its bruised body
and a reverse rigor mortis
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