The nights are rough with the sound of sandpaper
Calloused fingers that generate electricity along your skin
A body riddled with the scars of chemical burn kisses
Your ego and your pride rise up then recede, together as one
As you breathe bright breaths
Inhaling life and exhaling death
Strangely only a short while ago I was beginning to wonder when your next post would be up to read and wander in – lo and behold, here it is…
And in the moments before Maghrib, in London, I sit on my bed writing this to you.
This piece reminds me of something in my own past – it echoes ever so slightly in this piece, not painfully, rather enough to serve as a memory. It is a bleak one, a sad one, but a pertinent one. I’m glad a bit of it is in this piece. (Maybe it’s just the way I see it and relate to it)
PS keep writing the way you do, I admire details, and the simplicity of your words and writing style contains intricate details – interwoven.
I appreciate you taking the time to write this. I’m flattered by your comments, the detail of them as well. Lately, I’ve been overwhelmed with thinking to focus on writing. But, I have found some old poems that I have written, which I shall post soon inshallah.