Knife through a peach: our slow and so slow cleaving

Knife through a peach: our slow and so slow cleaving.
I gnaw at the skin, my son sucks on the flesh.

He gnawed at my skin and sucked on my flesh
not so very long ago.  I was ripe.

Not so very long ago, I was ripe
and moon-heavy.  Everything was future.

When I was moon-heavy and love was future
tense, I would gaze at the night sky and wonder.

Tense now, I gaze at the night sky and ponder
these years that have softened my body, bruised;

but even my body, softened and bruised
by the years was once firm, and ripe, and new.

Oh, the price of a life that is firm, ripe, new.
Knife through a peach: my giving, and his leaving.