Only the sun, when my moon shines.
Only the moon, when my stars align.
I stayed and closed my eyes.
Waiting for the return of what was once mine.
Whispered my thoughts soft as a prayer.
For I was never a clever player.
At the gladiator.
So, I soaked my body.
In milk and honey.
Adding cinnamon for spice.
I sparkle, my eyes were sunny.
Perfumes of oils composed chord by chord.
For the most beautiful bride.
The bride of might.
My mind.
Trench coats and hats never hid me from what was destined for me.
God’s illumination, God’s wisdom, God’s love.
I prayed like a little dove.
Talking to God like I should have.
Spoken years ago.
But with life there’s time and with time there’s luck.
There’s just no shade from the disfiguration of moonlight.
And there’s no hope in the lines that belong to me.
Belonged. To me.
Now I am somehow free.
Of my one-way destination.
And there’s work yet to be done.
I write words which I think look beautiful together.
Turmeric, viscose, and tangerine.
I threw rocks to ricochet my dreams.
To snowball some validation along the way.
To create stories for me.
To be told to the people through art.
Milk and honey.
Milk and honey,
Roses of God of Elijah.
Beads of God of Solomon.
Ropes of God of Yassin.
Me and my dreams