She’s broad-chested, strong-willed and strong-thighed,
Her bum’s big, true, that can’t be denied,
And her melon-like breasts
Are the subject of jests,
But there’s depth and great warmness, inside.
Tag: breasts
The chic clique
Women long to belong to the clique
Of the sleek and the terribly chic;
Of those simply unable
To wear a cheap label,
To cover their scrawny physique.
They imagine they have a mystique,
Unconcerned by the chaos they wreak;
Anorexia looms,
For those vanity dooms
To the struggle to feel unique.
Eyebrows, lips, bum and hips get a tweak,
Then some sculpting of chin and the beak;
And no sane woman rests
Without plumping her breasts
With prostheses that harden and leak.
They know well, it’s of them that I speak,
Women passing their sexual peak;
They who inwardly rage
At the coming of age,
To whom life unobserved seems so bleak.
So they lie, and they cheat, and they sneak,
Make themselves into some sort of freak;
Despite smooth, unlined faces,
The airs and the graces,
They’re sad, and pathetic, and weak.
The savage breast
She was beautiful, bad and depraved,
Her cunt hungry, demanding and shaved…
Beneath breasts sweet to hold
Beat a heart hard and cold,
As she sought the strange sex that she craved.
Tour de force
She had breasts best described as pneumatic,
Her love-making quite acrobatic;
Her firm buttocks clenched,
Panting, moaning, sweat-drenched,
Till she came in a manner ecstatic!
Love at first sight
With her help, he unfastened her bra,
And he looked and thought “God! There they are!”
Then she took off her pants,
And from just a quick glance,
As he came, he was heard exclaim “Ahh!”
Age of consent
As she neared the age of consent;
Woman’s breasts, woman’s hips, woman’s scent,
Men and boys watched her pass,
Bouncing tits, swaying arse,
As they loitered close by, with intent.
Ecumenical
He liked breasts big and round and low-slung,
With long nipples, that bounced as they swung,
And he paid little heed
To the race or the creed
Of the girl on whose ribcage they hung.
Buttered toast
Butter dripped from the young lady’s toast,
On her attributes full and foremost:
Tragic waste it was that
Her dull husband just sat,
In his newspaper deeply engrossed.
Mr Brown’s wife
Mister Brown’s wife’s more forward than most:
Brown’s short-sighted and deaf as a post.
While she flirts with their guests
And exposes her breasts,
Brown smiles fondly and plays the good host.