I stuck my foot in my mouth
when I said I didn’t like breast implants.
When we fooled around
you made sure I wasn’t aware of them,
but after you told me
all you did was press them into me,
two hard lumps spooning against my back.
At first I thought I could live with them.
They were part of you and if I loved you
I had to accept them, learn to love them, too.
You were right, they looked great,
as long as you sat upright,
but on your back or side, or above my lips,
they broke my suspension of disbelief,
and when I kissed and squeezed them
it was as if I was making love to a synthetic doll.
So I avoided your breasts and did you from behind.
But this didn’t last because soon
I began to avoid you altogether.