I have no bosom, only breasts.
A matched pair of fraternal twins taking
residence above my ribcage sans remedy
for improper proportion. Fighting fire with
readjusted bra straps I am firmly against
inserted padding;
firmly against added extra or redistribution, the
alternative scalpel. These, my mild landmarks,
pair themselves like two left feet. Least loved
heirlooms should all other pearls fail.
