Is It Really So Wicked Of Me Poem by James McLain

is it really wicked of me if i go, and;
buy a peach and it's too soft and ripe.
what if after words
it does what you thought
it would do
and then it well, just might.
and yes you know my fingers
are often more than that,
and any thing they do
and still you would have me, why.
what if i pick the next one up,
and squeeze the center
and it does
what the others did to you.
i keep running fingers them all around it,
in and out it
underneath it,
like those around me did.
and yet peachy they all remain,
as last they were
and watching yes
they laugh so hard and knew.
well,
i guess i can always wipe that kiss off your
face,
but i'm thinking if i do,
what if the rest i miss
and pass them by
and the best runs off
the ones i left behind.