Saturday, 8 March 2014

Peaches by Donald Hall

A mouthful of language to swallow:
stretches of beach, sweet clinches,
breaches in walls, pleached branche;
britches hauled over haunches;
hunched leeches, wrenched teachers.
What English can do: ransack
the warmth that chuckles beneath
fuzzed surfaces, smooth velvet
richness, plashy juices.
I beseech to you peach,
clench me into the sweetness
of your reaches

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