Buxom

They sat-

superfluous,

for so many years,

undisturbed

like fine art

suffering in

an unlit corner.

Now nipples stand

erect, flesh ripe as

air tickles

goose flesh.

How glorious to be

desired.

I'll admire

how fantastically

wild they bounce

when going fast and

going deep

and covet the

hands that caress

and cradle them

while I drift off

to sleep.

One more year

or one more hour-

every ounce-

I'll remember them,

before they

may be gone,

or transform.

The memory

of being wanted

will fuel me like a storm

as life stings and

stings like salt.

But still I smile

as they sit,

proud and ready,

for assault.