[this is somewhat of a nonsense poem...unless you...
Ruby-red slippers with yellow brick stains...

After going up to the mountains of Granada to see...
Your feet are the pulse of Spain...

And so, once treacherous
waters are an afterthought...

After the standard mosquito shower, I play
connect-the-dots with my fingernails...

Am I the wilting temptress,
dishing out seductive hoodwinks...