For the chance to see you remove your shoes,
my hopeful eyes would walk
a thousand, thousand miles.
Time and time
and time again-
wherever we meet;
your two unblemished opal-brown feet
never gracefully fail to arrest me.
Faced with such ‘fetish- forming' contours, I coy;
on terrains made sacred by their poetic prints, I tremble;
before their nude arches, I bow;
trapped in the trance of their sylphlike stance, I fall-
crawl in sublime silence under their ideal control.
Utterly waxed in worship,
oiled in the thickest idolatry,
they jointly take a pagan-prone me
on a journey bound for the Aaru Fields,
Whether a beauteous duo
basking on a breezy sunrise beach,
a bare arousing pair
limply laid in the ‘land of nod',
or out steppin'
with their “ten pretty maids in a row”;
your fanciful pedicured figures ‘on show'
never faithfully fail to obsess me.
