Taste of Time

In the kitchen, the peach glimmers,

its skin taut and golden,

I bite, but the sweetness

now clings heavy, syrupy,

a weight pressing down,

each drip runs down my wrist,

a reminder of innocence lost,

the small joys that used to spark.

How odd, to feel the weight,

as flavors twist and turn,

like a dance now slowed,

where once I craved the fleeting,

lightness, careless,

nibble, and laugh;

the bite that brings back days

of sun-soaked summers,

now steeped in shadows,

a memory thick and sweet.