beautifully guarded
in armor the color of malagan sunsets

he wears it a bit prouder than the rest

and i will never let him know how i can undress

him but i choose to let him own the facade of strength

words off his tongue that i know have been articulated before

(she only knew

half assed love, wannabe emotions whispered between sheets, lust at 2 in the morning, never kisses at dusk, never watching light grace her face, never realizing how naked she was for him)

transparent as he spread himself thin

my fingers are never tight

and i never feel his pulse

calma

in a constant state of departure without having a destination. give me reason to unpack these heavy bags and i promise to stay a bit longer.

my city reborn

My city reborn. Opaque colors of graffiti that plastered walls like portraits—imagined that the spray-painted murals on 18th Street represented someone's truth. Clouds connect the skyline to the pavement. Horizonless metropolis. My city reborn. Because of a love affair with another. The brilliant ancestral sky of our homeland, where you sang um kalthoum from my grandmother’s rooftop. I think of your face. Green eyed, eyelashes women die for—someone would have made you a commodity in any place but there. Hands covered in ancient henna designs nonchalantly passed on. Young girls paint tattoos from American magazines, imagine blond hair against their dark features. But while we rejected tradition we always understood that beauty in it's purest form was to embrace: ink on faces, poetic tongues, drumbeats created to emulate the musical movement of our hips. At times I swear I smell the coals of taboon burning. Eyes close only to open with a gentle distance of realization. Burning leaves. Maybe even garbage. Not hand rolled bread layered with zataar. I never understood your language, but rarely lost in translation. Life in your eyes when almonds turned from white to brown. You no longer loved your husband. Gentle hand raising your sisters child. My city reborn from the love affair with a city that was not my own. Where you laid my grandfather to rest when the land was bare.

the pause between lies

broken french
cigarette and peppermint
i always enjoyed the way you never owned up to your bad habits
they didn't exist if i couldn't see them
my lips stay a bit longer with a goodbye you never knew was hitting you
my apologies, but i always exit with grace
you handled me with caution
but you got it wrong
all or none
so tired of some
the truth is i fell in love
with the city that nurtured you
and the music you birthed. my painting on the wall of your tiny new york apartment. your mother calls on my birthday every year, hope on the last syllable of each mention of your name
ode to the truest romance
because unfulfilled
what-ifs and possibilities
you asked if i remember that night (caught you off guard. touched the corner of your smile. those eyes with tears of laughter. those eyes
that stopped and lingered on me for the first time.)
habiby, i took it away once
don't make me steal the memory you grasp in the crevices of your mind.
harlem is too far away
and we are both staying still
ode to the truest romance
because you always loved me
in an unconventional kind of way
timing always off
i love yous always quick with sloppy kisses on cheeks
never in it
you had a woman. my earring snagged your scarf. my heels lifted to reach you for the first
and last time.