I.
firm, calloused with adventure,
brown and pink, muscled and silly,
the femininity you finally found.
the ball is always so tense. your
cute, powerful wedges, keeping you up,
meeting the earth with the recklessness of love.
the tapping of tight tendons as I push
into the density you walk. the smooth, convex
curve down from your ankle. it is calculated,
carefully considered, like you give gifts.
there is no brighter sun.

II.
light, small, soft
pliable, cohesive, self-certain
the arch defined but not severe,
(like you think you always are),
a shape like your self, something
you have always protected,
hidden, kept inside, kept from
the rough of the outside.
granted, you can kick
(and dance!) just fine.
each precious, slender digit
lays against the next
like new bushes
in a family garden,
sparse but friendly,
known and touching.
connected. and to me, as
I press and roll you around.
you taught me that someone
might like having their
ankle rubbed. I didn't even know.