My Infinite Betters

A representative of the Gynarchy priesthood mocks me as I kiss-respect a bright young woman's BOOTS:

'Haha, that's right slave, kiss the BOOTS of your infinite better!'

The master-sir is right - she is my infinite better, as is he. I can only hope and pray that the master-sir will take a step up to my face when the young woman moves on, so that I might kiss-respect his feet also!

A holy master-sir mocks me in my ignominy

But I am duty-bound, by Law, to show my slavish respect for this bright young woman's BOOTS!

It's not difficult - given how ornate her BOOTS are, and how fabulous she is!

These are, as the priest master-sir has so succinctly pointed out, the BOOTS of my INFINITE BETTER!

And the SOCKS!

The master-sir's mocking laughter echoes through the alleyway

But I only have eyes, ears, nose and mouth for BOOTS!

I daren't even look up at the SOCKS! I'm not worthy to!

I hope and pray that the master-sir's SHOES will be heading my humble way next?


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