Ode to Breasts - Beautiful Prose

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"Breasts are milk. The breasts of a woman, numbering two, one on each side. They begin to develop in adolescence, reaching maturity at sixteen. Hidden by day, they radiate brilliance at night. Called 'Mimmets,' 'Bobo,' 'Twin Peaks,' 'Flower Chamber.' A place every beauty has fought for, a haven of tenderness for heroes since ancient times. What is their color? Deep winter snow. What is their texture? New summer cotton. What is their taste? Spring peaches and plums. What is their appearance? Rippling autumn waves. Moving like a timid jade rabbit, still like a languid white dove. High and firm, fleshy and trembling, pink and tender, dewy and lustrous. Capturing a man's soul, arousing a woman's lust. I lower my weary head, exploring your twin jade peaks, like a ship entering harbor, like an old man returning home. Shedding the cold wind and rain, I plunge into a vast, warm ocean. Deeply embraced, gently swaying, intoxicated, soaring." — Chen Duxiu

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Ode to Breasts - Beautiful Prose

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