Edward Kofi Louis
Lift up your eyes on high and see,
To whom will you liken me?
Of the sixty queens aroun my thrown.
Of the eighty concubines aroun my thrown;
Real, deal, meal, heal, peal, seal, veal, teal, weal, zeal!
And with virgins without number.
My breasts are like towers and like sweet apples to my lover;
but, can a maid forget her jewels?
Then, think twice before you close that door.
can a bride forget het attire?
but, i am my beloved's and, my beloved is mine;
And like the water of the old pool.
I have all that my beloved wants tonight!
And like a reservoir between the two walls;
but, shadowing with wings to set above the circle of the earth.
To the city of salt,
To the city of love,
To the city of sugar,
To the city of roses,
To the city of romance,
To the city of passion,
To the city of emotion!
But, do practice what you preach.
Love is sweeter than the bullets of war;
To the city of terror!
To the city of fear!
To the city of death!
But, where is the fragrance of your pleasing perfume?
For, my breasts are like sweet apples to my lover.
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Comments about this poem (My Breasts by Edward Kofi Louis )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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