in response to An Untitled Love by A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham

Although she was young and naive,
The bottoms of her feet were worn and soulless,
She sauntered through the golden fields,
Ready to convene with her love,
Who missed the comfort of her touch,
She missed the comfort of their voice that melted like honey.

The autumn weather forced her to march on,
Even though her heart has bled and ached enough,
This was all a sacrifice, and they were intertwined,
Her heavy eyes stared into the distance,
Long behold, an elder peach tree and a beautiful figure.

Her heart started to skip beats, and so did her pace,
She could tell she was getting closer to the golden grass,
Was this her final fate?

Gentle hands caught and held her tightly,
“My sweet love, you’ve made it. You’ve made it.” the voice murmured,
“Sit on the Earth’s mattress with me; taste the sweetest peach on the twig.”
As the wind wisped through their hair, he let her down slowly to the ground,
Grabbing the ripest peach and putting it in her worn hands,
Together, finally, eating it with her long lost love.