I dream I’m in a Parisian café
With a dark-haired girl
Wearing a yellow skirt revealing
Photographic sensual legs
That would later make me cry
All night in bed still pondering them.
I have so many of these
Intoxicating fantasies,
Massaging her delicate feet
And kissing her toes
With her toenails painted pink.
But then I find myself alone somewhere
On an impoverished street,
And I mostly see old ladies or poor kids
Riding their bikes on weed-infested sidewalks,
And I don’t reject but relish and celebrate the contrast,
It is all the poetry of God’s scattered
Beautiful humanity,
As if you could gather
Every amazing flower petal
On a single flower.
Uriah Hamilton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-toenails-painted-pink/
