Ceiling corners

Lying in bed
Smoking hookah with Rumi
Staring at the ceiling
With walls made of shadows.
The scent of agarwood in the air coming from the kitchen;
Drafty rose and all things eastern and holy
My skin oozes with warm toned oil
A tasty blend of nature, dirt, rain in the city,
Lotus, lily, ice cream, rose, opium and something tremendously unsatiated
Like the mystery in ancient stories;
Arabian nights,
Just like the way baba used to tell it.
This still of the night;
A lonely bug crawls
With a burden on his back,
On a mission
Across this enclosure that’s so alive, so open
With moths
Buglettes
Spiders, possibly
Caterpillars, hopefully, like the ones from my childhood
Lizards, lizard lovers, families, dramas;
They once used to be my friends.
I could lie in bed and watch them for hours; their shadows, like dragons.
Nighttime
The sound of silence and bells from women praying
Nighttime
The sound of static radio and the news theme playing
Virtuous strings and purposeful tablas; the world was full of important, manly things
But I
I was too entangled
In my own world,
Upside down
Marveling at the architecture
Of this funhouse
With walls made of peculiar corners
And a floor made of ceiling.

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We feast

Each of my fingers imprint love over your back. Scented warm rose water ooze out of my pores. You’ve managed to unlock a chamber of my heart and decided to open it. And now you take care of the rest, as you hold me together. Bundling a puddle. Holding onto a slippery fish. You’ve owned it. You take the responsibility. It was your choice, your game, and you’ve won. And now you feast,
We feast,
In full content
With ease
Effortlessly
Hand to skin, and skin to hand
Pore to pore, and drop to drop
Back and forth
And forth to back
In a circle, in a pod floating down a heavenly path
We feast, head to head
And heart to heart.

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