Tuesday, March 1, 2011

X is

Through elbows and exotic scents
we wade through local tongues
and the din of the bazaar.
Lacquered fingernails reach down
she feeds me a piece of coconut.
Her scarf, trailing from her hair
captures the summer nightlights of Tehran

In a cold Toronto January
I try to furnish a renovated basement
with my life packed in two suitcases.
She laughs, and next thing I know
I am waking up in a queen size mattress
to the sizzle of bacon and clatter of cutlery.

Behind a bar in downtown Ottawa
she waves sparklers, short white dress
illuminated beneath golden trails
that appear in the pictures I take.
Someone congratulates me.
She looks my way, her eyes light up.

We lock glances like we've met before.
Beyond the doorstep of words
 we speak the tongue of lips.
Her eyes smile into mine.
  It's like looking at my own reflection.
It's too fast. And it's getting late.

We walk beneath a moonlit sky
feet burrow into the cool white sand
as the ocean makes her nightly confessions.
The quiet expanse of stars
kisses the words out my mouth.
My eyes find hers and smile
as we leave footprints in the sand.

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