Boobtober is Over

BOOBTOBER’S OVER

October has taken its bow.
But the body still remembers the light –
how it slipped into the curves,
how the year’s last warmth settled in the pores
like a promise.

A soft sheen on everything that moved,
the scent of fallen leaves,
and skin carrying the afternoon sun
like a treasured secret,
before dusk laid itself down
heavy and kind over the world.

To those who let the autumn light
immortalize your breasts,
unapologetic as sisters of freedom,
bare in defiance of watching eyes –
kudos, respect, and love.

For every trembling soul still standing
in the long shadow of winter,
you keep the fire alive.
Come November, remind us –
among friends, there are no kings, only queens.

Now is the season for wool and duty,
when blankets hold off the outer cold
while mugs of chai –
or mulled wine, if the night insists –
warm the inside.

My fingertips wander empty across the screen,
as if that living skin were still there,
those lovely domes
that defied gravity.

My palm remembers the gentle warmth,
my eye still yearns to trace it.

And sometimes, when the light falls just right,
I can almost sense
something tender, softly shaped,
stirring in the memory –

heavy, and sweetly lukewarm.

© DistinguishedSir

Tillagd 1 nov 17:31 Noveller #Exhibitionism #Kvinna #Vår kultur #Ickebinär #Man som bottom #Samhälle #Intersexperson

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