74

Even as he died

At 74

He didnt have a last wish

A last thought

Only a last image

A brown breast

It was all

It was

The only

Thing

It was not the breast

Of his mother

Pasty white

It was not the breast

Of a lover

Or first girl friend

Small

and smooth

But that of a nanny

He never had a nanny

But he saw one once in the park

When he was seven

She was Polynesian

But all he knew

Was her breast

Was dark

He saw her bend down

To pick up a childs toys

Saw the top of her breast

And wanted it

He wanted it

Then

And never stopped

Comments

[Michael Ketchek]

One can't explain the mystery of being human,
one can only point to it. Well pointed