his thumb probes between the large and second toe
drawing a circle of charms around the ball
like hieroglyphs chanted in the cave that is my foot
(the stones at Stonehenge collapse in delight)
he skirts the issue of the arch to the plump heel
searching for the knot of truth along the instep
each toe like a pasha is mesmerized by
the dance of the thumb and fingers
as if it were a half naked dancer swirling her story in
scarves draped methodically over her nipples
my muscles drool in supplication for his smooth dragging fingers
each slight prick of a fingernail yet another rune translated