By night as I ride my Gypsy Vanner through the mists of my medieval mind I savor the muffled knocks of their hooves upon the cobbles and it is reminiscent of my own footfall as I tread across the surface of a marble lake with my opal encrusted shoes. My shoes are like  the gloves for my fists and allow me to run with wolves through brambles and bogs and to leap onto the backs of giant pied crows who circle above the mystics on the updrafts of invisible thoughts. Run with me, dance with me, climb with me and walk with me at my side. Let our movements become synchronized like two clocks across different galaxies and escape the phantoms of regret.

My heels dig into my steeds paunch as I take to the hills and so I also command my partner as we dance under candled chandeliers hanging from large rusted chains clamped with bolted electricity to the bloodline above our heads. My Gothic shoes can be silent like black king snakes seeping out of the knotholes in a cedar rot or they can be as deadly as a polished sharpened steel blade cutting across a winter icy pond.

Let me be bold and outrageous with my magical feet dancing to a secret rhythm while tides of rats swarm around our ankles and delight in the miniscule moments that define our fleeting dance upon this life. The stiletto points on my high heels lift me towards the eye level of my lover the dark Aphrodite of the shadows who allows me to walk behind her in the glorious padded prints of her sandals.