I. I walked away uncertainly, thinking “I guess that was that.” Returning to the rental car of our recklessness I contemplatively began eating the peach you gave me. Ripe and spectacular as those of the NC foothills, (where we both chopped away our thick roots years ago to tread away with our new spouses and degrees) the peach burst its clear juices down my chin and arm. Leaning unsteadily out of the car I tried to avoid dripping on the velour, while capturing those escaping beads, unwilling to let the flavor be lost. I finished the peach with an appreciative gulp enthusiastically casting the pit into the bushes. I would tell you later how I may have planted a peach sapling (like the peach trees that grow, unappreciated and unfertilized, in landfills) in the state of NY in commemoration of our fruitful affair. II. I starved, remembering the sweetness for two painfully dragging days before I relished the eating of the second peach. I cradled its juicily fragile flesh in one hand while unpacking, afraid to abandon it for a moment and leave it vulnerable to have husband or child stake a claim. I stole away with it, to taste in privacy as I suspected, it was just as decadent and consummate as the first. I devoured it selfishly, remorselessly.