Black stilettos on,
Retina burning visage,
Sporting but a smile.
Lace, soft lines accented.
What’s shown is grace, what’s not
All language escapes. My chest is bursting, the air charged with
Sweet smelling sounds. Vision distorted; black, red, ivory, and purple bleed through.
Incomprehensible movements ripple toward me, my limbs are missing
And I cannot reach out yet.
In the distance, fireworks, closer
The sound of soft touches.
Pangs, pants, intake
Echoes of minutes back and ahead, memory yet to be,
The lovely pains flutter in one another,
We play: hands tied, aching to drink in what bared teeth sink.
Murmurs and shouts.
The best shoes I’ve ever had, never belonged to me. 7” stiletto heels with buckles, hot pink pumps with chains, industrial stompy boots . . . She had them all. How she navigated the cracked and twisted sidewalks of L.A. in them without toppling over, I’ll never know. What I do know is that they were part of her charm. Part of what drew us together. Symbols of the culture and adventure she loved.
Some say the make-up, the perfume, or the clothes make the woman shine. When she stepped into what others may only define as foot torture devices, she became irresistible to me. Confidence, liveliness, amusement, happiness, laughter, mystery, spontaneity, and love all came alive. On those shoes she dragged me off on so many escapades. “Let’s go dancing,” “let’s go to the Sawdust Festival,” “Let’s see the world, starting with San Francisco,” “Let’s climb to the roof of the planetarium and see the lights of L.A.,” she’d say and off we’d go. The shoes carried her on her path, and as luck would have it, the girl pulled me in her wake.
Actually, I take it all back. The best shoes I’ve ever had were the pair of size —- black queen heels that I wore the night I dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter for a goth club and drew my now-wife’s eye. The shoes I wore all night, even after I’d changed into jeans and a T for the after-hours Thai joint that she loved, because I forgot my tennis shoes. The shoes that caused her to say, “Any man who dances so well in heels and is willing to dress as Dr. Frank is a man who’s up for anything. Let’s go to Bondage Ball in December!”
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