It's not always the shoes,
It is always the energy one puts in the shoes
or gives out
Tuck and roll young man. Aim for the fleshy meaty parts. She was younger than my daughter
I feel like Humbert Humbert. But the gap between her teeth and a diastima between her smiling legs. All diamond shaped, like superman's Ess. My personal kryptonite.
She makes me believe in and hope for days. Like Christmas, I wanted to open her as my gift in predawn glows. When nightingales, sparrows and ugly greasy English Starlings change shifts, singing like Parker, Coleman, Coletrane, Pine.
Once I hoisted her atop one dirty yellow caterpillar's back, suspended her in chrysalis of open air, embraces and plain view. Dull eyes may have witnessed me become lapis lazuli butterfly. Sipping night blooming jasmine's nectar dangling on proboscis tongue, dancing in breezes of steam vent fog and heat of bulldozer's radiator. Rose bud ears pressed in two leafs of Sumi-E tantric mantras that walk rice paper on still water. She stands atop stems of champagne flutes She is lifted to whisper pleasure's name in dusk's ear, an aurea of obscenities. Raised to kiss heaven's lips by two purple pillars in my hands, she is feather quill's penning translucent stanzas on my psyche. Calligraphy of opium. 
She defines muse, dreams love loud and so lucid gods, angels and ancestors wake from millineum long reruns of "A Day in the Life". Snatch me up by nappy lotus chakra's umbilical, from gates of Niverana to utopias of interrogation. "What manner of falling is this? Upward! How dare you love so. 
You are only human!" Religion binds spirit to flesh, me to her by thin golden threads. Me, tapestry of Persian flaws. Perfected as she walks away and I am thrown back to reality, knowing It's stopping that hurts, from these heights. 
I think, stopping could kill. So, I'll spend eternity falling
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