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By K.C. Wallace
From afar he noticed her breasts
firm and strong,
yet pliable enough to move
with the wafting of the wind.
His heart leaped and raced,
his thoughts suffocating,
feelings, feelings new, feelings strange,
catapulting him to desire intimacy
and its warmth.
Her breasts were cisterns
that gave me life.
that nourished and sustained my soul,
soft, supple, full of mystical power
that could heal my heart,
dry my eyes, and
lull my troubled mind.
Fierce breasts that created oceans of promise,
hope, in a world
where human hearts
lack compassion and concern.
Her breasts hung down,
suffering from the gift of time.
Like the leaves of a weeping willow they cry.
Prodded, stretched, and pulled,
worn by unselfish usage.
Voices of malignancy whisper
at the steps of death
Probe for life among the dead.
Was the purpose realized,
to arouse the desire for life,
to create life, sustain life,
and then die by decapitation?
#Unreal #Poetry #KeithWallace #BreastCancer #Life #Female #Cycle #Transformation #Love #Breasts #MammaryGlands
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