Barefoot.

The two,
Joined by hand,
One side—overbearing
And obsessive,
But devoted ‘til the end—
The other—submissive
And carefree,
But devoted ‘til the end—
As much so as siamese siblings
But without resent,
      without reluctance,
Instead with romance,
             with selection.

Watch how they step
In piles of grey grains
That occupy the space
Between their twenty digits
Only briefly
Before those grains—submissive
And carefree,
But devoted ‘til the end—
Are rinsed away by their companion,
A salty, foamy water—overbearing
And obsessive,
But devoted ‘til the end.

How the two must be discussing
Nature’s perfect bipolarity.
They must be commenting
On the restorative, yet relaxing properties
Of the two extremes.
Or maybe
The two are only walking,
Not thinking nor vocalizing
A single thought.

What a shame
It is not to be in their position,
On their path.
Sadly, I am in my own shoes.
No warm, grey grains encase
My toes.
So neither can that water rinse
Them clean.

But it is with poor reasoning
That I go without knowing
This couple’s thought.
For you are submissive
And far from carefree,
But eager to join 
With someone overbearing
And nearly obsessive,
But eager to join
You.
Well, that someone is
Me.

So link your hand to mine
And let our shoes fade from us,
So we may forge a path and discuss
Nature’s perfect bipolarity
And the restorative, yet relaxing properties
Of two extremes.
Or perhaps we’ll say nothing,
We’ll say nothing at all. 

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