Northridge Review, Vol. 2.2 (1984)

Ricardo Means-Ybarra

When I squeeze you, I worry about
your thin chest
so delicate, as if made out of
hollow bones, meant only to keep
your heart from beating through.

And I like to kiss
the valley between your breasts
that, like a small bowl,
could hold a little sip of water
or maybe stop a cherry from running
down onto your neck.

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