Your Feet
Your feet
are beautiful;
painted a deep
ominous black,
shading your
worries with
each stroke
of the brush.
Deep arches
deepen
when clear-colored,
and your instep
comes out
as the black withers
away into
the nothing.
Each stroke
of the black
polish
on your nails
bring you back
to forgetting your
past fretting.
But I'm here
now.
Your feet
walked up
to me, and
your past
fretting
is now
gone.
I'm here
because of
your feet;
let me
remove the
black hole of
your worries, and
let me
love you
like you
deserve
to be loved.
No more ominous
black,
and the arches
and instep wither
away its fretting
into the nothing
because now,
I'm here.