The ripe peach flesh bites off in sweet chunks
while a white butterfly meanders the summer garden.
Unchecked, the abundant peach juice drips down
my chin as my teeth grit against the brown stone
still buried deep inside the fuzzy fruit.
The wet convoluted stone is beautifully asymmetrical
and totally clean of all of its delicious flesh
when finally tossed beneath a lush blooming
pink azalea bush, for the amusement of the ants.