George Faunce Whitcomb

“ Its fragrance, its warmth, and its softness to
mine;
The throbbing velvet of thy rose-crowned breasts
hath driven
Me mad, as I kissed the flaming tips divine.
And yet I wanted thee still more.
The pink-tinted plain beneath thy breasts' youth-
shapen curve
Hath ofttimes rested my head - my tongue
at loss
To describe in words the beauteous sight my
eyes observe,
Portals of thy soul, through strands of mid-
night floss. ”