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The Boot


by Philip F. Clark


Omen of the foot. 
Black, weathered, 
slick with a snake-tongued step, 
the calve's leathered matador. 
Heel, buckle-belled, silver-edged 
finger grope, one slow toe tap 
urges 'Come here.' I bend to
the hand's companion, my lip's acolyte,
a crotch-heavy press of 'Yes.'
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