Mounds can’t swing in this booby pen—
that’s a nada for tata drop.
So foiled is a chest-breast sway
in one who’s wearing this top.
No shaking of the crammed-in rack;
out the two are not gonna spill.
It’s a twofer that’s upstanding.
So the story goes until. . .

Sheer fabric goes bi-split—
knockers spring, cassent* bra,
knockers cassent bra.
Sheared fabric goes “bye”-rip—
knockers spring, cassent bra,
knockers cassent bra.

The bolster’s done in. . .popped tits:
expanded boobie mounds.
I’d love to get a faceful
and taste of those cassent-bra rounds.
It’s the leche’s been sought out
by babes—bests sucking the thumb.
A laugh may be a titter,
but that word could be a pun.
But harp on semantics:
I won’t go there. . .
when the fabric fails.

Sheer fabric goes bi-split—
knockers spring, cassent bra,
knockers cassent bra.
Sheared fabric goes “bye”-rip—
knockers spring, blast bra,
knockers blast bra.

When the bolster is a tit thrall,
it really packs ’em in.
It is an avowed tool
to banish optic sin.
When nip skin gains erection,
the spandex may not thrive. . .
a prowed gawker gift
that is swaying smash-bra drive

Sheer fabric goes bi-split—
knockers spring, cassent bra,
knockers cassent bra.
Mere fabric goes “bye”-rip—
knockers spring, bash bra,
knockers bash bra.

Out spring balled-up breast fighters,
which get to see the light of day.
Dropping bosom from a titty-heft—
mounds the cassent-bra way.

Of boobs there’s a shared peek—what
a lovely way to stare.
The breast bi lot: boobs two,
and cocks tip up toward the air.

Who moon for a shared peek were
mouth-gaped in stare—
the vest-hide-tits failed.

Sheer fabric goes bi-split—
knockers spring, crash bra,
knockers crash bra.
Meer fabric goes “bye”-rip—
knockers spring, bash bra,
knockers bash bra.

She springs from the bolster;
jugs are wending free. He can gape it,
each slumped-below-the-nape tit.


*break; the “ent” syllable is silent