I saw nothing of the woman's face, hair, or figure, as she walked up the steps of Tate Britain towards us, other than her breasts, a shelf of flesh flashing, cantilevered cups overbrimming.
My imagination took the leap, diving into those twin pools below me, sure there was room in there to swim a length or two before she noticed.
5 comments:
Thir is truly fab. Have you thought squizzing it into a poem shape?
Maybe, but thoughts of squizzing get me all hot and bothered again.
She was rather glorious. Icecream moment ... and no I am not explaining that.
Raspberry Ripples?
I have missed that!!!!
Debbie, you don't have to explain...
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