a livid whirl
between love is a family’s rage -
     a mother who’s full of spite
a father who’s mindset can’t be replaced
  so close, yet so far from love
i rip out my curls - her own thoughts
are contaminated with these ideas of hate
     the thought of what could be only
tears me apart and drives me insane

- t.m

a timid girl
seventeen years of age
her smile reminds
me of my mothers face -
a springtime swirl
green leaves dancing in the rain
a light drizzle, softening all
of life’s struggles and pain

- t.m

My hungry lips started to talk
To your lips in language hungry,
As my tongue began to unlock
The well of  your  language sundry,
Necking your North African mounds;
Halting at your salving shell pink,
To sip and sup your winy words
And faint and wake and rise and sink
In the waking sleep of the tongues
Of your fire
To pen my un–Sufi desire
And die in the dunes of your body.

© LazharBouazzi