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.
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