of the hours that we wait. (poemoff 2)

of the hours that we wait. (poemoff 2)

it is no tornado, but
dorothy's life is not a pirate's life for me--
a fairy tale told in emeralds and swords.
you turn my cheeks rubyred and shiny.
perhaps it is a tempest.
i'll stay inside before the fire
while wind whistles in your shoes
even though i'd rather
let the gusts rip my skin from my flesh
and make me one with you. but outside
the road is cowardlylioncalm
without a blowing breeze.

The title of this poem comes from "AND READY TO BE CONSUMED" by Zack.