Shoeman in Love


I fell in love
through a pair of beaded slippers.

She brought them to me
to have the heels repaired.

They were black satin,
the toes hung with jet beads,

and lined with pig-skin,
a leather that absorbs sweat.

Her voice was like pig-skin
fine and strong enough

to absorb me,
but it wasn’t that —

it was the taste
of the imprint of her heel

when I licked it,
holding her slipper

in front of my face
like a cup.