My Foot Is on Fire
Flames curl from the toe of my brown leather shoe as I sit by this café window and think of you.
How are you? What are you up to these days, and with whom? Do you sense from afar that my foot is on fire?
People in the café are beginning to stare. They don’t like my foot being on fire. They want me to leave.
They want the same thing you wanted.
I’ll go in a minute, but first I want to know: Do you care that my foot is on fire? If all of me were on fire, would that do the trick?
Love, if you were on fire, I would bring water.
All right, I’m going now. I just wanted you to know how I was doing.