Breasts

up and out and together,
just barely inside
a scoop neck top,
and a stray breeze chills her
her nipples become more out
up and apart
and my eye falls across her chest,
even if I am admiring,
even if I am approving,
even if I am supportive,
even if I am merely seeing,
it goes without saying
that I should not be saying
anything about seeing her breasts.
if i do,
i'm a sexist pig,
a lecher,
a mysoginist,
a dirty old man
more focused on the objects
than on the she
who placed them there,
and consciously chose
to push them together,
and lift them up,
to swell them round and hard on top,
to stress their twain
by cramming them together,
now, i see the breasts again,
and if you have them,
and, if you show them,
i will see them