Soft Alchemy

I crave:

Bread, warm from the oven,
butter melting into the tender crumb.
The taste, nearly sweet,
soft,
melting in my mouth.

Peaches so ripe
they bruise beneath my touch,
juice dripping down my chin
with each bite,
sticky like honey,
their fragrance —
flowers and sugar
clinging to my fingers.

A curl of cheddar cheese,
salt blooming on my tongue,
the flavour lingering like fresh cream.

And water, cold and crisp,
ice clinking in the glass
sparkling like diamonds.

I lie,
sated,
in the glow
of the summer sun.