When I can not contemplate your face, behold thy feet. Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet. I know that sustain you and your sweet weight on them rises. Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the box of your eyes that just took off, mouth wide fruit, your ruddy hair, my turret. But if you love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and the wind and the water, to find me. Pablo Neruda.