You wrote me a new kind of Rhapsody
But I didn't know you then
You didn't or couldn't have known me
Because I didn't know myself
untill I met you

Since that day my bones are Brittle
Covered with strange layers of Ice
and thorn
Every word you spoke
felt like a knitting of smooth silk
Digging into myself and our love

I spent nights alone condoling myself with sleepless serenades and pauses of breath
I wrote you a love song once
but you melted it
And I took it from there that my heart would follow yours
but no chase would begin
Because you say yours belongs elsewhere
But of course I know that you are wrong

It is the waiting hour
And our time is nearly up
But what will matter when it comes?
When our waiting stops

So we clutch our dying dreams
And watch the embers burn
An hour gone's
An hour lost
But our waiting doesn't stop

It is the waiting hour
And these dreams will never end
sometime soon
Around that bend
It'll come and end our pain

But the time is running out
And our lessons never learned
The waiting done
Will make us Dumb
And death won't stop a thing

It is the waiting hour
Our time is nearly up
nothing will matter when it comes
When our waiting stops

You know it's true
when I say that I never stopped
having feelings for you.
I've been waiting so long to give you these
words, but yet, I've been waiting even longer for yours.

Maybe I'm the selfish one.

Want doesn't have to be in the past tense.
Because one thing is for certain,
I want you just the same.

Remember the time I kissed you when I shouldn't have?
Remember the time we danced?
Remember the stars?
Remember how dangerous and passionate it all seemed?

I'll never forget...
Because as you went with Autumn,
all the colors went with you,
leaving nothing but the white powder of emptiness.  

I ache for your skin
and desire your lips...

Maybe, I'm just a hopeless romantic,
and maybe this changes nothing,
but you too, are my
weakness.

It was only important
to smile and hold still,
to lie down beside him
and to rest awhile,
to be folded up together
as if we were silk,
to sink from the eyes of mother
and not to talk.
The black room took us
like a cave or a mouth
or an indoor belly.
I held my breath
and daddy was there,
his thumbs, his fat skull,
his teeth, his hair growing
like a field or a shawl.
I lay by the moss
of his skin until
it grew strange. My sisters
will never know that I fall
out of myself and pretend
that Allah will not see
how I hold my daddy
like an old stone tree.