breasts on a beach

From pert, pointed rosebuds which pout,
obscenely suggestive and urging on the
seduction of the lithe, the young;
they're conical, ‘like a virgin'.

Some remain this way infinitely,
others become full, ripe and red red red
like promising apples un-plucked,
but wholesome, loved and tough.

I particularly like those which seem skew whiff,
an oval shape which leans to the left
or right, but never straight,
a symmetrical nipple leaves me bereft.

There's peanut nipples, bullet nipples,
little and large, winking and grinning,
their alertness causing a ripple
amongst surrounding, sun-glassed eyes.

Then intervening years soften to sighs
all these, magnificent undulation
swooping onwards and downwards, like
graceful, tired birds (post-migration).

Through these
the next generation was raised;
suckling like the animals we are
we all began here.

Consequently, I cannot swallow the sight
of the hard, round boulders
which reach for bony shoulders.
I am distressed as I pretend to read.