The pink sandals
With heels-
Every time I run down
The stairs.
There's something about
The pair.
The beauty, the curiosity,
The sheer deception
As they neatly sit there
Intimidating me.
After weeks of familiarity.
The imagery, takes shape
Of a fetishized face.
A fantasy around them
Grows a pair.
Then the fancy meets,
The reality one day when,
My landlord's girl,
Opened the gate.
Ahh! The disappointment.
Never meet your idols
They say. The reality of a
Fantasy is often a
Disgrace.