wrong angles for his appraising gaze.
He’s not flirting with his wife – if that’s
who is sitting at the table with him.
It is overflow because he’s bored
with her incessant drivel or wasp-ish
at what’s going unsaid or distracted by
the news of his friend’s recent relapse.
Maybe she’s not his wife and it is
because he wants to jump her bones
and hasn’t yet found a way to let her know.
It’s definitely not the foot,
unremarkable in shape and size.
Or apparel, which borders on
aesthetically offensive:
white athletic socks, sturdy sandals.
It is itself: of itself, for itself.
…and utterly sensual.
It is the recurring sweep of the curve,
How when it reaches the top of
its simple circle, foot slows,
not out of hesitation,
possibly out of anticipation,
but most likely
out of sheer satisfaction.
Momentum suggestive of other intimate rhythms.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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