tagErotic PoetryBreasts Are People, Too

Breasts Are People, Too

byCal Y. Pygia©

Breasts are people, too;
They weep and bleed
And sometimes run.

Wax images, graven in lust,
Adorn walls,
Faces frozen in smiles and frowns,
Eyelashes in their nipples.

Wait.

Please.

Take the time
To rhyme.

There must be rime,
For it is cold inside,
And the sun runs, hot,
Across the frozen sky,
Making us bleed and cry.

Cast a green silhouette
Of your naughty nakedness
Across the wall of the shower stall,
Complete with beaded sperm,
That I may know you’ve arrived
And the day can smear
Dawn across my brow.

In the window of the building
Across the street,
A block away,
I see your vagina, or the vulva, anyway,
Like a ghost
Haunting me with its penis.

Hermaphrodite specters, even here,
After midnight,
In a cubicle fifty stories above
The scribbling traipses of hope’s slow death,
Sprout lathery demon’s wings
And fly.

Have you ever seen a woman with a mustache
Or a man with breasts?

Orchids are flowers;
They are testicles, too--
Manhood’s flowering.

Sweet
They are
Sweet
And colorful.

Breasts are people, too;
They weep and bleed
And sometimes run.

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byCal Y. Pygia© 0 comments/ 5406 views/ 0 favorites

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