Before I pull them tight, I make a loop around them (or untie them from yesterday).
My fingers cradle them both and caress them. I give them a kind of hand kiss.
Sometimes they have missed a shoe eye. Then I bend deeper towards it.
and when I have found them between the sock and the leather, I feel myself coming closer.
I want to catch them, hold them
I like a soft one, not too young, not too old, not too doomed.
Sometimes things get in the way. The belly or the knot of yesteryear is too tight.
Suddenly I see holes in my socks. I keep quiet about what I say.
For a while intimate love has left me.
|