Hips roll like hills in the valley

Aged and well traversed

But beautiful nonetheless


Flowers grow from cracks and crevices

Baby’s breath blooms from between thighs

The innocence of youth gone


Breasts sit like mountains

Atop the valley of the chest

Natural and ever appreciated by travelers


But they forget who owned the land in the first place –

The woman who has cradled it

And loved it whilst

Sailors and shepherds took advantage of

The sunlight radiating off her back

To grow their own

Selfish desires


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