The place we connect with the earth

I sit fascinated by the tenderness
in his voice as he speaks, imbibing
the curve of a woman's foot
with languid fantasy.

                         the arch is ivory silk
                         with feathered creases
                         to be lost in

His language a confabulation of hushed
words that lick all the angles turned
by her heel hanging over the bed's edge;
his smile overwhelms me.

                         heart strings plucked
                         with the simple curl
                         of her painted pink toes

Pleasure hangs on his lips like an epoch,
hands caress the solid air as if her foot
existed beneath his delicate fingers, as if
he could smell the jasmine lotion on her skin.

                          I slide my striped sock
                          over ankle, toe and heel.
                          I want him to tell my soul
                                                            what
                                                               matters.


Aleathia Drehmer 2009

Published by Sugar Mule 11/09