The Marvelous Lime Green Bra

Thirty-six-cee, right off the rack.
T'weren't nothing special to look
at on a hanger
     until
she filled up it.  

That marvelous lime green bra,
cool in winter, juicy when warm,
was cheesecake
behind the glass partition
     of her
          filmy
white shirt.

It wasn't Bradbury's ice cream suit,
nor the sisterhood's traveling pants.
It was hers. Made expressly for the contour

of her curves
engineered by intelligent design, the autobahn
of every a fifth gear-shifter
with the drive to know

if there was delicious
     lime green
panties to match.