Ragged Sky Press

My bra, it keeps my breasts in equilibrium.
It stops them lolling,
makes them conform.

My bra, it makes my breasts be fair,
molded to hide flaws, absence,
age and arousal.

My bra, it makes my breasts concealed things,
thus objects to adore.

Underneath, my heart,
a hideous, unbridled growth,
peers out, ticking.