Hidden feetures

My eyes gasp and my mouth stares

My skin races and my heart tingles

Yes, I am feeling disorientated

On account of your feet

Freed from their shoe-prisons

I catch them swaying under your desk

Like meerkats in a gale

Using a rhythm purged from the rest of you

Sheathed in their colourful cottons

They’ve mistaken their socks for frocks

And are revelling in their finery

Swishing dreamily like dervishes

I capture it all in one furtive glance

And replay it like a seamless looping Vine

As I track each movement using GPS

- a digital footprint, so to speak

But I'm no foot fetishist you understand

It's not my fault they're transfixing

They summon me like the Pied (foot) Piper

And I feverishly skip to their tune

For beneath the whispered static-buzz

Of fibres rubbing up against fibres

There screams an orphaned desire

To see you in nothing but these socks