A breast, the breast, two breasts abreast
what galleons, figure heads, project their bloom,
their blown out pomp, balloon,
swollen slowly through the child its birth,
suckled, swallowing the milk of mother's holy rooms,
their own develop,
laced with fantasies not yet understood
but if they could, what then.
In puberty they grow and grow,
they stand out heavy weights
and as you run they do their private dance,
enhance this life with humorous fun,
entrance the male, whose fingers learn that this,
is soft female bliss defined in flesh.
Her nipples ripple with delight,
inside, electric messages flash from brain
to all erogenous zones,
alerted drones set up a music filling tomes and tomes
of literal bones, that beat the drums of love,
a dove becomes a lion
Orion burns its geometric fires
across the sky of her desires.
Comments
Ann
Loved this write and the theme stars of the content lol,
Yours, Sparrow
Hmmm......
I seem to remember this but it could just be my fixation lol.........stan
Some do, some are aren't they
Some do, some are aren't they stan, others choose other areas,
I know someone who chose the posterior
and she didn't like it one bit, they got divorced! :)
Thank you Ian :)
Ann
Ann
I always try to keep a breast of things,
La La, Bad Sparrow
MINE are solid! :)
MINE are solid! :)
at your age ...you still keep abreast
you are no wonder
on top of poetic crest
the best
Ann
Being serious, A brilliant write.. but back to where we were I got the whole point straight away, and this is one of my favourite things, so now you know why I keep a breast of all things it makes for a lovely life La La.
Yenti and Ian.T are in a dark room some place so it just leaves me here and do you know what when I was a baby all they would feed me was regurgitated food I would have loved something else, Yours Sparrow...
I absolutely love it!
Anne,
This poem works on every level to me. It's honest, funny, well written, and covers the topic like a snug bra. It makes me laugh at myself and my eyes' magnetic attraction that I can't explain. It is a turn on in hearing the frankness in your description of their role in a woman's sexuality (telegraph to the erogenous zones). It is a pleasure to read a poem about breasts that doesn't fetishize them. Your writing had already earned my respect, but this a remarkable poem. I would consider the musical quality of your writing more indicative of form poetry. Well done!
Ron
Season of them
A great poem Ann
fun written and witty
with enough charge in it
to make it sparkle
Thank You
Merci, merci beaucoup
They are vibrating with their gratitude for such limelight
as they hang there despondent, in their old age,
slowly getting to look like "strange fruits on the magnolia tree."
My father called my mother's bangers her apples.
I don't know much more about that side of their lives!!!
Its not them that are IN at the moment though,
it was bellies last year, what is it this time,
the split in the trousers,
wow, some go so far to be particularly "attractive"!!!!!!!!!!!?
Ann.