A man said to me in a coffee shop,
“I am fond of breasts;
the way they need to be carried,
the character embodied in their form,
and the gender spoken by their shape.
I look at them often, waiting
to lay my hands on them
like a scientific child,
then put my head on and between
and dream of water beds.
I am picky and devoted to the subject,
albeit having experienced too few,
yet see myself somewhat as a yogi,
meditating the ultimate pair.”