Joy of the Naked Breast
Every step gently moves smooth contours under sheer concealment,
Luring the passerby to imagine the form beneath.
Eyes avert while gaze strains to peer beyond the veil,
Mind drinks in the image,
Wondering who could be granted audience.
Scene repeats as days pass.
Every form unique, each anticipation the same,
But the naked breast eludes.
Hope rises as necklines fall,
Side glimpses inspire,
Traces of silk and lace taunt.
Lift demands attention.
But the naked breast eludes.
Adolescent obsession possesses every age.
Each interlude like the first,
All consuming, then forgotten once out of sight.
The joy of the naked breast not,
But the joy of the promise.
For it is the promise, renewed at each encounter,
That gives pause, eclipsing all but the moment.
Pure essence ascribed as form in Plato’s Cave.
A candid look into the male mind by Steve Harris.
Thank you Kathryn Ramirez - your boldness inspired me to post this piece.
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