January 3rd. 2020
Under the sparkling stars, there are houses within the hungry city. And within this hungry city, such melodic music can be heard through the broken windows. You lift my kaftan to hold my thigh and I hold your muscular arm closer. The weight of your body measures the weight of my heart. Heavy, but subtle. Your breath brings me air and sometimes my tears turn to dust. We sang a song so sweet that I pass out in sin, drenched in despair. Questioning my morals that don’t seem illegal. Sometimes we run away, cling, turn and sleep. Sometimes my body feels used, sometimes it feels loved. I write this as I hear your chest heaving and your chocolate-colored skin glows in the dark. There are times when I cannot sit in your absence worried when you are away and if the world can take and swallow you whole. I pray for you when you venture out on the street sometimes knowing that a life like yours is treated worthless. You are like the fresh dew falls in the morning mist for me. I miss the way you make me feel. I loved your presence close to me. The nearness of you, a song I use to hum inside. I love our shades of brown in the mirror that we both look at. You look at your pores, I look at the mines. Yes, a mini you inside me would be great. I thought I would feel alive, but I didn’t. I collapsed and the world got much bigger and my aspirations got much smaller. I feel like a mustard seed that needs a lot more than water. Now I’m thirsty. My fragile black hair falls out day after day as I grow up to be a woman. I don’t think I can find a man who can love me more than you do. A man who cares more about me than you do. A man who once stiched my heart over and over again with many different pieces of thread, more than you. I look out my window and peer through a sleeping world. I say a prayer for the people who hide in safety and for those who sleep in the corners, outside, in the cold. I make a dua for your heart and your soul. And if our hands could meet in another dream, we would build another tower in the sky. Heights. The heights that seemed to descend while the earth trembled beneath us. Our heights.
