Shield me from the rushing wind, your umbrella fighting hard against the rain. Your hand is warm where it grips mine, shoved inside your pocket, generating heat like the core of the earth. It's molten, the feeling in my stomach, as it spins and spins and rockets through the sky.
Your eyes are stones, grey and hard as they bore holes into the world around us... and they turn to me, and suddenly they're soil, where plants sprout and water rushes and life springs forth and light glimmers and glows.
I look up at you, guiding me as we cross the street, my legs covered in bandaids and scuffs. Your lips curl, and steam swirls above car engines, looping through the air as rain beats down upon the hot metal.
Your hand is so warm...
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Dreams
PoetryA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
