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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460507" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0030 Breasts</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ve only got to say the word…and<br>I can hear the male murmur murmur right now<br>mixed with a hurhur hurhur as of naughty boys…<br>suddenly lips and fingers have their vivid, hungry memories…<br>while ladies have their own reactions<br>not unaware of the murmur hurhur and the fact<br>that some men think they own these, ungifted, as of right…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and some of us, perforce, have memories as intimate, <br>loving, detailed, at our fingertips: <br>the years that once a day or twice<br>I took the soothing cream and powder, <br>and with such respect and love and courtesy<br>washed as gently as I could, <br>dab-dried with even more light a touch, <br>lifting those still heavy and magnificent creations, then<br>with first the cream and then the powder<br>traced with so careful finger, the sweaty sores<br>that brassiere and human warmth had made<br>under the milky skin, lightly veined in blue, <br>the other hand shifting their tender, surprising weight<br>to make the task so perfect, <br>all the while listening carefully for<br>that slight intake of breath that meant that pain<br>was a necessary factor in this task…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and those days of delicate comedy<br>when I sought with such care among the women’s stores<br>seeking out the older assistants, prefacing<br>my potentially kinky or erotic request, they might think, <br>with reasons: the sores, the preference for front-fastening, <br>the possibilities of sleep-bras which however<br>failed to hold those splendid orbs…<br>the sports bras which might be too tight –<br>I could have made a career of it…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and when you died, at a hundred years and two, <br>the skin unblemished, smooth, unwrinkled<br>on your back and round those lovely breasts<br>I’m left with that strange, unasked treasure – love beyond desire, <br>And fingers full of memories of care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460507" data-title="0030 Breasts de Michael Shepherd" data-description="I’ve only got to say the word…and
I can hear the male murmur murmur right now
mixed with a hurhur hurhur as of naughty boys…
suddenly lips and fingers have their vivid, hungry memories…
while ladies have their own reactions
not unaware of ..."></div>
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