The breasts,
they sag
from gravity,
slumped across
the pallid tundra,
comforting
the lone nevus.
They silently
protest
against the
foreign fingers
that could not feel
the grief
of the loose folds
of skin.
They are sad
Very sad -
even though their
dark heads are
bowed low
in humble glory,
basking in praises,
as they hover above
the strangers
they hadn’t met.
