He slips her toes into his mouth
then slowly slides them out.
No. He guides her toes,
with the unshaven hair of her big toe
tickling his upper lip, into his mouth.
“The cemetery is busiest
on Mother’s Day,” she says, sitting naked
on the tub’s glistening edge. “You’d know
if you’d been.” He works his thumb into her
arch, cradles her foot. “The grass
next to the stone needs trimming.”
Reaching up for the polish
near the sink, he answers,
“Let’s paint your toenails red.”