Of all the joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks onto mine…

 

He read me like a Mills & Boon

thought he knew my heart’s desire

swept me off my corny feet

set curled up toes on fire

 

For him podiatry was challenge

experimental, avant guarde

ejaculatory pedi-torture

hammered toes blown fast and hard

 

He innovated long and often

loved to take me by surprise

took me till my arch was aching

used techniques I’d never tried

 

He plied a form of reflexology

that turned convention on its head

never touched a metatarsal

but rubbed extremities instead

 

Such lewd and torrid tantric teasing

rejuvenated my poor heart

de-rheumatised my faint phalanges

pricked every podiatric part

 

He was a smooth and lucid walker

lulled me with his lists of words

food and filth in random ordure

no rhyme or reason to be heard…

 

I never saw the climax coming

to this podiatric tale

so blinded I by his assertion

the twisted turns of alpha male

 

So when he tied me to another

for a leggy threesome race

surprise akin to shock and horror

stamped itself  upon my face

 

How could he liken me to others

who’d skip and jump at any chance?

both my feet were firmly planted

and knew full well who wore the pants…

  

He’d read me wrong - a big faux pas

I was no weak damselle

I wouldn’t toe his sordid line

but surprise him good and well

 

If podiatry was food of love

revenge it was a dish

best served hot and steamy

whipped up from meat and fish

 

Drizzled with formaggio

pickled peppers, parmesan

bunged inside his oven

then served up ‘au gratin’

 

Let my story serve as warning

to podiatrists who prize

above the need to stimulate

the need to just surprise

 

Let’s treat our soles to gaiety

to pathos or to pain

engage our balls emotively

and whilst we do it

entertain!