When drastically both breasts are droopers, <br />I’m partial to the party poopers <br />who will not join them while they sag <br />until they’re lifted, like a flag, <br />not by a bra but by a surgeon, <br />who makes them fit for virtual virgin. <br /> <br />When neither of the mammary glands <br />is fit for cupping by the hands <br />because they’re sadly shriveled, shrunken, <br />and hollow as in Donuts Dunkin’, <br />male chauvinist, I walk away, <br />and search for others on display. <br /> <br />When breasts are greatly oversized <br />I do not wish to be apprized <br />of their gross presence, but retreat <br />towards a pair that, more discrete, <br />is more attractive to this poet, <br />a tit man, case you didn’t know it, <br />although long legs may be enticing, <br />and buttocks which are like the icing <br />on cake which, though made for a wedding, <br />seems tasty for small bouts of bedding <br />between a pair of sheets kept crumbless <br />by love slow as molasses, rumless. <br /> <br />5/26/06<br /><br />gershon hepner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/droopers/
