"Sonnets for women’s feet"
Each day with spiking, smothering longing,
like drunkards yearn for fat-soaked meals,
I yearn for comely ladies donning
a lack of cloth around their heels.
I dream, until the point I’m swimming
in sweat, of sweet young sockless women
who’ll thrust their bare soles in my face
until I squirt all over the place.
In parks each sweat-inducing summer
cute girlies by the dozen flaunt
their curvy feet to make my jaunt
across the town at once become a
wet dream. You witches, let me lick
your luscious toes until I’m sick!
I’d hop from Neath to Vladivostok
to kneel at some fair maiden’s feet,
tear off with teeth a gladly-tossed sock
and feel the scrummy radiant heat
that bursts from every bulbous pinkie,
my thirst for heavenly jolts of kinky
submissive woman-worship quenched.
To lick girls’ feet until they’re drenched
and marinade them toes to ankles
in custard, yogurt or ice-cream,
alas, to many girls, would seem
quite odd, a fact that daily rankles.
Dear ladies! Open, please, your minds
to love of odd but innocent kinds.