Your Feet by Pablo Neruda
When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me. Art by Beth Carrington
Recommended listening: Lee Morgan BBC 1965 - Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers In Undertow - Alvvays
Links of the Day: Gauguin’s Stirring First-Hand Account of What Actually Happened the Night Van Gogh Cut off His Own Ear The 12 Stages of Burnout Boiler Room x Metal: Different Trains 1947