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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she touches her breasts in the mirror"

does she need to touch her own face to know?
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
And her knee touched mine
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
The portion of her face she allows me to see
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I will have her forever but I can't touch her
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She flies with her own wings
She always was devious in her beauty
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
This Motion Encompassed in the Touch of Her Lips
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
What do girls think about guys when they catch guys staring at their breasts, but the guy is actually trying to read her shirt?
She keeps her lies everywhere
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
her breasts are her trademark
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
serene. She sips her tea
At her mirror, his muse
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
she had already found her party
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She always confused her greys with white.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She was cilantro, jalepeno, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
Now she's in my doorway, accusing me with her soft breasts and long legs, strong hips.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
when I touch her I hope it's you that smiles
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She Will Have Her Way
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
the way she wears her weary
She was never mine. I always shared her.
I don't like her because she won't like me
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
she lit her thumb on fire
She practices her speech
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
She asked me to read her a poem
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She knows no truth except her own.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
None of It Touches Her
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
she gave her heart to a falling star
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She touched my life for a second and made everything peach-scented
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She thought about giving him her heart
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
breast implants
breast
perfect breasts
Oh look, breasts
God, thanks for inventing breasts
You wear your breasts to their full extent
Scented Herbage of my Breast
Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast Only
The Breast Equation
lymphatic drainage of the breast
Disorders of the breasts
The dimples of your breasts do pucker evocatively when you smile
The Topless March For Breast Cancer (free exams given to all topless onlookers)
whose breast only roses adorn
If you don't want us to look at your breasts, don't shove them in our faces
punk rock breasts
What is wrong with my breasts?
You can bear arms, but you can't bare breasts
The fun of breastfeeding
breast pain mastalgia
Breasts, unbound, moving like oiled balloons
Being Asian is rather like having large breasts
Garlic olive oil herb chicken breast
at breast supplementer
Breast Display and Climate
Chicken breast, heavy on the delicious
How to make breasts give milk
Why I have a fear of breasts
My body is a battlefield, and all my breasts ever do is argue about existentialism
Stay, ruby breasted warbler, stay
i held onto my breast and, alone i walked through the park with fish eyes in my brassiere
It was men who made breasts into a secret.
Breast is best
faster-than-light breasts
A vague suggestion of breasts
Nobody cares about your fucking breasts!
The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover
Rosy Palm and her five daughters
hers
her
The Ground Beneath Her Feet
Do Her
Herr
Her braid; I obeyed
On Her Majesty's Secret Service
Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition
river, in all his innocent beauty and home in hers
If a picture is worth a thousand words how many for a touch?
Making her presence known
Making her presence known (part 2)
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
I don't want to see her
The woman with her legs apart
right under her surface
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
Her name was Natalie
Funny -- she looks much smaller from outside her head
Pig on her back

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