A curve so smooth, a gentle rise and fall,
Where softened lines in symmetry align—
A sculpted form, like nature’s finest call,
A secret formed of flesh and blood divine.
Beneath the skin, the pulse of life does beat
With warmth and firmness, and radiant flair,
A symbol pure, where heart and passion meet,
A vessel shaped by will, both bold and rare.
In light’s glow, it catches ardor’s embrace,
An orb that speaks beauty, calm, and allure
And in its form, unmatched in any space,
Can turn the dark to day, and hurt to cure.
Oh, breast of woman, filled with strength and grace,
A masterwork, core of love’s special place.
© 1974, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
🙂