Across the wastes of all imagination run the female breasts,
As varied as the rippling waters of an ancient stream.
My treasured Love has breasts that melt my sensual mind
As contemplation so rewards.
For they are so essentially,
The loveliness of her.
They have existence as twin possibilities.
In one they are her gateway to her wildest pleasures,
That to share them is as ecstasy itself.
To the artists eye they hold such dear intensity,
For I can never taste the bottom of this rare creative feast.
In their sweet totality, a joy to tongue and mouth,
Lies the full completion.
Of her cherished beauty,
Of the perfect union,
Of her naked self.