.

.

with an anxious pressing tone

you summon me

to the bedroom

lay your hand on me

you say

calmly

lay a hand on my left breast

you now say anxiously

I break a bemused smile

no, I being serious you scorn

I frown

I feel you in silent trepidation

measuring your still gaze

as I discover you

your own eyes measuring mine

you are poised

gorgeous

whilst

attentively

guiding my hand

over your beautiful breast

then you stop

there you say

you voice changed

press

press deep

what do you think

I say nothing

panicked

confused

worried

what have I found

within your breast

growing

deep inside you

developing

a small lump

a big lump

which, was not there the last time I felt you

kissed you

caressed you

you have a lump I say

Fuck

.

.

© Paul Nichol 2013

 

After tests there was nothing serious to worry about, this poem was written a year ago . 

I was not sure about posting this raw memory poem, hence the time it has taken me to do so.

 

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