She had lazy breasts,
the kind that dozed
on rainy days,
sliding sideways
to Sundays
and drooped away and towards
a touch
while singing the song
the rain sings
when it cannot stop.
Pale and cool
wide-eyed with a sleepiness
of milky babes
they peeked from beneath sheets,
not knowing their own charm
as I pulled you towards my skin
to press upon me
their sleepy love.
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