Start at the toes.
Those pristine phalanges of mental confusion
contain in themselves a most sublime cachet.
Savor each growth and each razored, palled bunion.
If the middle toe's longer, then just run away.
Yes, I'm a pediphile.
Most days I'm up for fromage du pied.
Champignon toes are parfum to my nose--
a whisper of ginger: a roll in the hay.