'ta!

Her ta-tas
have gravitas
and levity

the angels sing
in praise of them
celestially, with
perfect objectivity

but down here with my
male glance fleeing everywhere,
especially, to eyes up here

so well aware

which catch, and throwing back
a knowing look or two,
right through me, and

the judgment they pronounce
could send a message
to eternity, or

drop me from the heavenest height
to bounce, a touch

too flirtily. Or say

"Let's bounce,"

Get out of here!
I'm killing me