The Heavenly Touch
White, as a floating cloud Soft, as a bloated feather Standing out in a fleeting crowd Are the breasts of a woman of heather Dressed by nipples like olives Covered by nature's caramel coloured guards You'd want to die in them The moment you press your lips on the rim It would be hard to resist The urge to suck the nectar from their fruit But as you draw your self closer Everything else would seem like a blur Nothing has been designed to contain them But the clasp of your palm They define truly, cream-de- la-cream And don't deserve to remain hidden As you lay your head in the valley of hills Heaven seems like a possible refuge As she throws her bra in a thrill You'd be amazed to see her breasts so nude When she walks They bounce on her every move You'd wish to see them through her shirt And find it hard to clear your mind's dirt She knows they are watching She knows them are young and perky