On this the last
weekend with my breasts,
I think I’ll take them for a walk.
Feeling how they move with every step.
I’ll take them for a last swim in the tidal pool,
nipples gasping in the cold water.
Breasts float when you lie on your back in the bath,
and they fill to fit in a lovers’ hand.
The last weekend with my breasts
will be a sad one, a saying goodbye one.
Once proud and ripe they fed my babies.
I’ve enjoyed my breasts, these life-giving miracles.
Orbs of warmth and glory, Soft and nurturing.
They know their power to entice or to disarm.
Where will that power go? when I lose them.
MgM ©
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