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222 The breAsT I was standing by my mother’s bed five years old so we were almost eye to eye No thoughts that I remember I just reached out and touched her breast To my astonishment my hand sank right in I thought they’d be hard and pointy like torpedo tips brassiere ads “What are you doing, Richard?” I looked up and our eyes met She said it very carefully In our midnight myths I bit her breast when I was born because she couldn’t give me milk Huge between us in the darkness bruised hurting Shame I knew even then I’d done something wrong so I shrugged looked away My mother’s careful silence not to alarm me I realize now to disturb the development of the starry man she willed me to become The incident passed with a mild unease But my thoughts slid ahead Rakish peaked that succulent bomb hung fire Its astonishment lingered almost airy soft and fleshy ...

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