When I let my fingers do the walking, the yellow pages are my street. When my fingers run, they ruffle through your hair, then slow to a crawl as they tenderly caress your face. But let my fingers do the typing, and the gate opens. Thoughts cross the threshold from my mind with prose flashing across the screen as fast as the fingers can go.

 

Today’s challenge asked for poetic style in prose format, fingers as the subject, with assonance (same vowel sounds within prose without being a rhyme).