Can any of this be denied?

Your very flesh
lying against the spillage of day
sky refusing light
promise of apricot--
a blush of red
against some yellow
never again to taste
pressed between lips
breaking taut skin
perfected edge
of worn down teeth.
They tell how kernels will settle
into August earth
long before autumn makes its claim.
If you do not believe in time
still it lays its reach of days
sings its strained melody.
Breathe its soft air
open your hungered mouth
to the nectar of lost fruit
apricots lifted into sky
beyond time's tale of centuries.
Who counts all these useless years? 
Why do so many demand them back
as if they could be bothered
for one last meal of love,
another's soft skin
pressed against your naked flesh,
can you not be warmed in any other way?