HER BREASTS

I keep thinking about her breasts

swollen, succulent, sizable

juicy.

I keep thinking about her breasts.

I think about them constantly

when I think I'm thinking about her mind, her soul,

that heart that beats beneath her chest

I keep thinking about her breasts.

It is not my plan.

I know she's a good woman

warm and deep

and loving, so it seems

and I want to know more about her ups and downs

all the sides of her personality.

But the side I keep returning to

over and over again

is her profile.

I keep thinking about her breasts.

Despite her smile, her nose

her crinkly forehead while doing the puzzle, her tapping fingers

despite her crossed calves when sitting beside me

and her swishing thighs and the small of her back when walking away.

Despite the amber waves in her hair and her creamy complexion

and the hot blood pulsing beneath

despite all about her I yearn to know

I continue to seek one thing.

Two.

I keep thinking about her breasts.