She becomes a loaf
From a cast of flour and water
When yeast powder
At the hands of a surgeon – the cosmetic genie
Works unheralded miracles
– and they call that a boob job !
Yet these twin concentric creatures
Can never be dated by carbon dating
After all, there is no time allocated
In history for the boobage
Only eons and eras have passed
Where men have been pacified
By the ageless boob
– after all Eve’s apple
Possesses a pulp that nourishes
Passion of a man and greed of a child –
And she is the only cup that is always
Filled to the brink – even spills over!
And just like a loaf of bread
She holds the dreams of the common man
And the laboring baker
When next to the flour and fungus
Lies a quintessential pastry maker
Perennially feeling his dough.