GHAZALING ON WORDS AND BODIES
Roam around the skin before starting to ghazal.
Loosen it from the bone. Let it spill.
The lap is hollow and shrouded in dark silk.
It aches for its losses and so it is never empty.
There's one on whom the eye can never rest.
The arms are still and well behaved, but the pulse is racing.
In hot weather blood grows thinner than water.
Magpies beat their wings in your hair to keep you from their young.
I remember the day my palm was plump with love.
I stroked the locks your hair and found them wet with dew.
The Happy Prince – Wilde
1 week ago