Of the Bra

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Of the Bra

It’s the butterfly that attracts me,
cross my heart – swear to god,
that elastic crossroad between one or another
where I tend to flutter, my tongue
hopelessly sputtering. Right or wrong,
simply considering the choice.

Lightly tasting the first hint of curve,
then breezing the pliant touch,
savoring each uncertain nectar, the salty tongue
captures the bead of sweat before
climbing and returning
slightly right, then distinctly left

and then right again. The untouched buds
like delicate pistils teased by the lack,
while still I bury my face between,
losing it in the valley, cleavage squeezes
my cheeks, leaving me breathless,
still pondering the butterfly.
 
 

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3 Comments
WickedEveWickedEveabout 18 years ago
~

I'd certainly get rid of "cleavage squeezes my cheeks," Without that line, it's wonderful or wonderbra or something wonderous. ;)

twelveoonetwelveooneabout 18 years ago
*

Look, I lost it at "cross my heart". One of the few, I really feel honest punching "LOVED IT". Brought tears to my eyes. Detourment at its finest.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 18 years ago
Great tribute!

and a wonderful poem, too!

Fly

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