Patchouli

.
He didn't bargain for  
what was to come...
 
hurt and abused as he  
had been, by the  
meat-eating women he
laid with each night,
 
for one so new and fresh  
to come and stay,
this bohemian vegan  
in her caftan,
 
showing to advantage
her pear-shaped breasts
through paisley sleeves that belled  
open; breezeways,
 
a blithe spirit floating
in patchouli,
with tender nipples, flushed
and pointing... up.
 
 
 
 ©2016 Jade-Pandora. All Rights Reserved.    
 
This piece was posted in the DUP Endless Challenge (since 2010): "write a poem involving breasts"