I usually don’t write poems. My artistic soul flies on wings too powerful to be clipped in iambics or tethered to structure. So anytime I write anything in cadence and meter, it’s usually a pseudo-rap or a limerick. This is one of those..
A Woman’s bosom
To sail along borne on feathery wings, to skate upon brown hills;
To slid and glide down through hairy frills, to land pat on a button;
From the crest so shaped, a pinkish tear, down a neck of a slope,
To a valley so deep, with walls so sheer, and black tip right at the top.
Down the plain, the traveller moves so fast, around a shallow gorge,
And past that is a forest deep, with a swamp as wet as a sponge.
To fall in this bog, is a pleasure sweet, with a urge
for more of that form,
To understand this, is a knowledge secret, the mystery of a woman’s bosom.
I hope we enjoyed that. No? Anyway, for more of my poems on this blog see Ghosts of Girlfriends past
Would cc Funke and co that helped with this post, but it might be improper.. (¬_¬)