bare feet

slowly, softly he paints each phalanx, gently a pale shade of nude pink the shade of opening conch shell silky inner lipped later, not much later, he slips them into his hands perfectly they fit like warm sandals each fingerprint wrapped around slender bare feet; moving up to clasp the ankles, he thinks he’s on a winning streak the fragrant frangipani oil like slippery ink he writes words on her hot skin then later, not too much later, he lifts each slick satin limb like they're a gift to the gods he prays in between her eyes, fluorescent glistening her perfume, the scent of sea Candide Diderot. ‘24 Lose Control. Teddy Swims.