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“Peach Cobbler You stirred the pot. Taking parts of you. Parts of me. The good, the bad. Even the things that aren’t So pretty to look at. And poured them into The pan. It’s easy to forget about The hurt until you come Face to face with it. Sour peaches aren’t the end Of the world. No matter how we layer it. These are the things we’ve Come to love about each other. Even the hurt becomes mixed In a sugar glaze with enough time. No matter how bitter. The brown of my skin Mixed with yours. A recipe that’s been done And passed down before our time. No matter how much of a mess We think that things are, No matter how bruised a peach We accidentally pick up. Nothing can replace the warmth Of a cobbler. Straight from the oven. Soon we’ll both be fast asleep. Your head rising and falling on my chest With each breath I take.” — Kewayne Wadley