Wrapped in a gorgeous gown that clung
to parts of her that were primordial,
revealing halves of breasts that hung
suspended between chords that cordial
accompaniment enhanced, she played
as though she was the soloist.
No quartet rained on her parade,
with her you merely coexist,
for she’s the diva on which eyes
are focused, while the ears are drifting.
Experiences like these surprise
those men who don’t find breasts uplifting.
1/27/06
And without the Howard Hughes cantilever bra either! Fine poem, Gershon. Sensual and honest and well-crafted as is your norm. Shalom and Mazeltov! Hugh
Oh this is such a perfect poem, Gershon! The wording is rich, musical, flowing, and sexy! The ending seems to slot into place all by itself, and has left me laughing inside. Thanks for this, Gershon. Regards, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who hasn't seen this gal, strutting her way through midnight, owner of all she surveys? Uplifted is right! !