I had seen and envied my mothers breasts, hoping mine would take on a similar appearance in adulthood. There was something in my longing for them that for-told the hopeless situation I would find myself in at their full maturity. Memories of her changing in the bedroom with the door open, a glimpse of their shape through the door, and a flicker of the aureole in the mirror: elliptical, swirling galaxy-like on her fleshy crest; its little pink bumps scattered like planets around the textured nipple - pink sun.

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