Re-working (with bits heard on the television while I was sitting..... a total mish-mash!)

I've told you enough; one shouldn't live alone
it's wrong. It must be years since I opened
a tin of peaches. Fresh is so much better than the sweet
syrupy slices which slide deliciously
down a willing gullet.

No-one possesses you. The juices break out
freeing themselves from the gentle wrapping.
Here I was born; I try to swallow
but I am transported to a childhood sickbed.
Guilt begins to wrack my mind.

It wasn't supposed to happen; my mother
prays kind words to ease the hurt while
the juices break out, freeing themselves
from the gentle wrapping of natural velvet.

I swallow. Here I was born.


Original version
It must be years since,
since I opened a tin of peaches;
don't get me wrong, I'm not a snob about these
things, but fresh is so much better

better than the sweet, syrupy, slimy
slippery slices which slide
deliciously, unhampered down
a willing gullet. Suck them,

slurp them, bite or swallow whole;
it has been so long that I almost
forgot how luxuriantly these
common golden segments can shine.

My taste buds titillated, I try
to swallow but I am transported
to a childhood sickbed; my ulcerated
throat craves relief from

harsh restriction, painful throbs
which dominate my being, my life.
My mother prays kind words to ease the hurt
while guilt begins to wrack my mind

as in my childishness I realise
that all the fault is mine and
nothing will be healed until I totally
confess and seek my absolution.

The juices break out, freeing
themselves from the gentle wrapping
of natural velvet. They flow in freedom
to run down my chin. I swallow.