Ingrid M. Calderon-Collins

these small breasts

bare scars of love
and past encounters left astray.
these small breasts
swell and wane depending on
the season,
these small breasts weren’t so
small when I was nine
naïve and boyish,
not at all co-que-ttish
these small breasts
were unaware
that young boys glancing meant
nothing more than curiosity
these small breasts
fast forward decades and
cheap romances,
I cut off tension
and pierced diagonal
restraints from pleasure,
lateral encounters
these small breasts
of tongues and teeth gone numb
on purpose,
until they grew
these small breasts
only not literally
just with excitement of the release
of fastened uprising and
centered frailty
at first lick
these small breasts
of pleased redemption.

 

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