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daily ritual

For two weeks in Paris

I follow this routine:

Morning, wash the skin

Until it glows -- soft and luminous.

Afternoons, remove the soft armor

The lace about my breasts,

So heavy and swollen

With the love of you.

The pharmacienne sells me

A balm of chamomile and clover,

One marbled drop for each breast,

Their expanding lucent white

tight sore rosebud of nipple.

Each afternoon you come to me,

A child addicted to their chocolaty-

Sweetness. You nose your way,

Settle in, and suckle forty-beats

A minute to take what is yours

By some miracle it comes;

The first thin milk, sweeter

And thicker by the day.

This we were born to.

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