It slipped inside the boot

It slipped inside the boot

unnoticed—

a slick, cold trickle

like a secret slipping between toes.

The sock, heavy with rain,

dripped its slow confession

onto cracked floorboards,

quiet as a hesitated word.

I peeled it off,

folded it in damp rings,

and the smell of damp wool

filled the room,

a reminder of all the little things

we carry—

those soggy weights

that soak through skin

without complaint.

There’s a rhythm

in the drip, drip,

the pace of wetness

measuring time

in the small spaces

where discomfort settles

and doesn’t ask for mercy.