Which is witch?

This simple girl
From Kansas
Following
The golden road
Has never reached
The Emerald City.
Flying monkeys
And poppy fields
Stood in her way
And yet
She trekked on
Looking for a way home
Looking for
The end of the rainbow
Looking for
Scarecrow
Tinman
And Cowardly Lion.
Her faithful dog
Is her companion
But offers
No advice
Or uses any scent
To guide her
On her way.
A kindly scarecrow
Spent some time
She thought
He was the one
But alas
His straw caught fire
And he was gone.
And now
A stately Tinman
Has revealed his heart
And she hesitantly
Takes his hand
And walks the road
Again.
Traveling and
Talking with
This tender heart
Inside the
Steely frame
She reveals
Herself
Her dreams
Looks down
Not seeing
Ruby slippers
And thinks
That maybe
She is not
Dorothy
But the
Wicked Witch
After all.

Weak in the Knees

Admitting
Weakness
Can be tough
But then
Admission
Could snowball
Into unexpected
Volumes
Speaking
To your
Secret heart.
Opulent
Rocky road
Ice cream.
Frosty green
Margaritas
Salt encrusted rims.
Soft and warm
Insistent kisses.
Quickened
Hot breath
Upon my neck.
Barely there
Silken underwear
And high count
Cotton sheets
On freshly shaven
Legs.
Toasted sugar
Scent
Of cotton candy
Wafting over
The fairgrounds
A small, sweaty
Hand resting
In mine.
These things
Belong
To me.
To hold
And savor
Deep within.
Not weakness
But
Strengthening
My inner
Retreat.

Smitten

Eros is said
To pierce
The heart
With his arrows
of love.
But what
About
The dart
Whose shaft
Is driven
Deep
Within your core
Causing not
Desire
And affection
For another
But severing
That bond
Once fiery
With passion
And now
Gone underground
Scorched
And spent
Still precious
Though shriveled
To crumble
When you are gone.

She Wanted

She wanted
Independence
Standing on her own
In the strange new light
Of singularity
Alone again
Not wanting
Loneliness.
She wanted
Friendship
To be a couple
Within the frenzy
Of her continuously
Tilting swirly world
Looking for
Connections
Not rings
Or chains
But loosely
Looped ribbons
Of passionate
Affection.
She wanted
Safety
Within the circle
Of his arms
And he
Provided this
Without stifling
Or smothering
Simply saying
Just call me
And I will come to you.

disconnecting

Again I soften my heart
And let you inside
Echoing the hurt
Felt even more
By the turn of a word
A twist of the knife
With a bland look
Or a small smile
Makes me doubt
My inner voice
My deepest instinct
Brushed aside
Leaving my heart
Exposed
Unguarded
For another nick
Or bruise
And so I learn
To shield myself
My heart
Still wounded
Healing
But scarred
And becoming hard
Maybe hiding
From another
Seeking love.

Art as Playsure

Running through color
Splashing in streets
Of paint
Rolling in the texture
Of my soul.
Pulling out markers
Leaving their trail
On paper
Blindingly
White as snow.
Crushing the charcoal
Between my fingers
And leaving
Smudgy trails
To follow later
With our eyes.
Sniffing the fragrance
Of crayon wax
And listening to
The bristle
Of the paintbrush
Upon the rough tooth
Of the artist's pad.
Feeling each pigment
Every stroke
Course through my blood
As it spills across
The pages.
I delight to see
My work
At end of play.

Loom of Life

You've stepped into
The weaving
Of my threads
With yours
Multicolors
Of fiber
That touch
And coil together
Filaments of feeling
Woven loosely
At first
And then
With permanence
Strengthening
My tapestry
With varied hues
And texture
New strands
Expanding to include
Your life
With mine
In a beautiful
Carpet ride.