I got a knot in my breast,
accidental subterfuge of
a lazy stretch, across the
afternoon, calmly bleak.
Doubt the site of malady,
my ribs? Certainly not the
lump of flesh, a virgin to
travesties of mortal aches?
Below my intrigued fingers,
depths of mammary kernel,
a fibre throbs, sobs against
her pushy sisters, confined
in her definition.
I got a knot in my breast.
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