Any Other Day

On any other day, she wouldn’t have worn socks.
She would have showered
and spent extra time washing her feet,
cleaning between her toes,
so that all that was left to smell
when he slipped off her boots
was the scent of soft leather lingering.

On any other day,
she would have kept her eyes open,
watched him bury his nose
in the arch of her foot.

She would have kept her eyes open
to watch him close his,
to see him rub his nose against her
until she giggled,
until she said,
“Stop. That tickles.”

On any other day,
she thanked God
it was any other day.