As you like it or not
L’histoire des boobies
(Begging the pardon of the ghost of William S.)
Ah, how breasts engage
And all we maids and maidens mere purveyors:
They have their cheap rags, clips, their fetishists;
‘Tis a lucky man fondles many pair.
Our boobs have seven ages. At first the infant,
Flat, sexless, indistinct from young boys’ chests.
Then the budding schoolgirl’s, stretching tight top,
Half-filled training bra, sashaying a grin
So eagerly to school. And then the lover,
Stoking love’s furnace with keen awareness
Of young men’s fixed eye. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and grunting at the gym,
Resentful of youth’s sudden and quick departure;
Seeking starlet bubble perkiness
Even in a silicone lair. Then sweet undone
Above fair round belly, leaky milky melons,
Eyes look soft on rosebud baby suckling,
Empty of sleep, thought and social life,
But happy plays the part. The sixth age pains
Into the lean and dusty dress of old,
Some paying dear lifts and tucks on the side.
Our youthful bust, decamped, and hips too wide
But our shape’s shift, and our now luscious curves,
Turning away from childish troubles, sigh
Tranquil in womanhood. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is pure betrayal and mere oblivion,
Sans curve, sans firm, sans taste, sans every thing.
· · • · ·
Comment
- Woo!
— Dean Allen (Mr) May 24, 6:09pm # - For more evidence that Wm. S. was a breast man, this pre-censor version of the first few lines of Sonnet XXIX:
“When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my boobless cries…”
— Michael May 24, 8:02pm # - Made me think of Thomas Hood’s
November
No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon – No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member – No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! – November!
— Brodnax Moore May 25, 12:41pm # - My kingdom for an ass!
— matthew May 25, 8:54pm # - Titillating! (uh…)
Perhaps a tad less poignant than the Bard, but lustier – and funnier! (er…)
She’s bolder – hold her!
— mojulien May 26, 12:22am # - Nothing better than when a chick waxes poetical about boobs.
— Jeremy May 26, 6:23pm #
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