Tits: The poem

Ogr81 tried to make out faces in the crowd at the smoke-filled cafe, but the spotlight blinded him. Hazy silouettes slightly different but allthe same, he figured, so he drew a heavy breath to begin:

To suckle life in purity
Like a milky white medium
That holds you there
weightless in mid-air
Where guilt and shame are lost

To judge individuality
Like a lose-eyed, leering letch
That helps define
a stronger spine
For dogs to sense the scent

They come in pairs
And each have a nip
Ooo-but what they are
These things they call tits

To feel at home
Nestled in your wifes breasts
It's so secure
And one thing for sure*
The ether fills your soul

To surf on the outer plane
As slick as siliconed stains
Where the thrill is lost
For a paltry cost
But it helps pass the day

If there were one
Then which would it be?
The one from mother
Or ego's intrigue?


*well....two things.....