I wear silk, the cover to uncover
because silk is what I want you think of.
But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern.
So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the nipple learns.
I am unbalanced — but I am not mad with snow.
I am mad the way young girls are mad,
with an offering, an offering…
– Anne Sexton, from The Breast, in Love Poems