He presses his hand <br />on my breast <br />and increases the pressure <br />exploring <br />moving slowing <br />rotating his finger tips <br />to that adjacency <br />where index finger <br />takes a turn <br />on my gentle breast rise <br />and probes <br />the gentle probe <br />which mixes <br />exigency, <br />and anxiety. <br /> <br />'Do you feel a lump I said' <br />'No nothing yet' he says. <br /> <br />He strokes with his finger tip <br />across the mounting rise <br />centering on the nipple tip <br />pressing down <br />breast deep <br />centering with <br />smooth <br />rollings <br />and I say <br />'Do you feel anything' <br />'Nothing yet' <br /> <br />Beneath both <br />he presses <br />slowly up <br />till <br />there he says he feels I small bumps <br />which I say are glands <br />not growths. <br /> <br />Every week he feels my breasts <br />to see if lumpy lumps <br />have appeared. <br />We both share <br />this tense time <br />mixed <br />with intimacy.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lumpy-lumps-mary-and-john/
