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