clicking the crimson shoes together brought her home to my front porch. | 1 |
the doormat welcomes Dorothy, the doorbell calls to her; | 2 |
our eyes meet, our smiles parallel, our hands embrace. | 3 |
the sprint towards the wheat field is without purpose- | 4 |
we make crop circles of our own. | 5 |
the reeds crumble under red storms, thundering at a running pace. | 6 |
a dot in the distance neared with our bounds, | 7 |
the thirsty oasis draws nigh! | 8 |
the well, overwhelmed with the living liquid, beckoned our visitation, our knowledge. | 9 |
hands depart uniformly, eyes too scared to close. | 10 |
the body floats, separating from the clothes, the walls, the warmth. | 11 |