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you burnt me whole
with your picnic candle.
(were you that eager to touch her?
and how does it feel, smooth unharmed skin?)
i am melted wax on dewy grass,
and i have to feel each one of her toes sinking into me,
with her screams growing higher
echoing somewhere in the core of the Earth,
(beyond the moon as well, she had aliens at their knees).
you spilt something,
you whispered her name over and over and over.
she spilt something,
she made me swallow it.
(you used to do that)

strawberries, cherries, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate sprinkles;
i ate your leftovers along with the ants.
you’ve woven me into her;
“how thoughtful! no one has ever bought me sunflowers!”
i barely remember the color yellow.
she has her finger down my throat,
i no longer whisper your name when i sleep,
but i whisper hers.
i lucid dream about her wearing my shoes,
over worn sneakers, if you care to know.
i untie hers and wear them
only to take them off
(take everything off),
drip honey all over your body
and melt into your arms.

i am wax again,
on dewy grass,
covered with sunflower petals and melted ice cream.
it is still her hand in yours,
“i love the grass, it seems comfortable on days like this.”
Reem Hajal Nov 2018
it reminds me of the mid August heat
of his old decaying teeth
it reminds me of the smell of paint
and music that makes me happy
of ukuleles
and faint bird chirps
of sumptuous velvet by my bare toes
and icing on cake
of cereal and sunday mornings
and mom’s freckles in the sun
of thunder and lightning
and mattresses pressed against my back
of the gold he embellishes me with
and old recordings on tape
of ee cummings and maya angelou
and a time were it was easier to live, but harder to survive
of Cleopatra and reigning women
of God and answered prayers.

yellow reminds me of elation and euphoria
and a field of sunflowers aching for me to dive in.
Reem Hajal Aug 2018
their feet clicked along the marble floor,
blue, gold, and embroidered flowers
covered every tapestry of the castle.
click, click, click
chants rose in the air,
statues of past kings judged the dancers,
diamonds fell from ring fingers of maids,
my presence embellished by the eyes of the admirers.  
click, click, click
the horologe matched the tapping sound of the guests’ footsteps,
my time was running out.
click, click, click

an angel whispered,
“time was never real.”

(only this time, it was only my feet.)
Reem Hajal Jul 2018
their house was covered with leather flowers,
and honeysuckle wet with dew.
the scent of lavender and honey mixed into the air,
the milk they had gotten earlier to drink was spilt all over the garden,
the window sills were bright yellow,
the door white, the walls caramel.

the sheeps they herded were sound asleep,
the butterflies were as colorful as the scarf they wore every day,
and the birds chirping welcomed every stranger.

i spied on them long enough to realize that they’re not hiding anything.
peace can be found;
but only in the mist of the forest,
in the bottom of your heart,
the roots of your roses.
Reem Hajal Jun 2018
i spoke to God of you.
he replied and described you as one of his angels;
Raphael, Nathaniel, Gabriel, you.
your soul ethereal and eternal,
ever serving God.

and daisies and sunflowers rounded your halo,
and i kissed your broken ribs that your red bandage hid,
and the blood pouring out of my eyes watered your roses;
(do not worry, it didn’t stain).

God sighed,
“he was the angel that left.”
Reem Hajal Jun 2018
where do flowers bloom?
i’ve seen them grow between your thighs,
by your hips; red roses.
on the ***** by your collarbone; white roses.
on your lids; yellow roses
in between your knuckles; my roses.

where do angels sing?
i’ve heard them knock on your door
and chant for months straight,
the same song repeats with each of your heartbeats, gulps and blinks.
where you lay at night, where you spend your day,
where you bathe,
where you hide.
wherever you breathe, they chant.
“how glorious!”

where do trees grow?
on the palm of your hand,
oaks and palm trees stand.
olive trees swoon for you,
and cedars kneel.

where does my heart beat?
exactly where the flowers bloom,
where the angels sing,
and where the trees grow.
Reem Hajal Jun 2018
a little girl ran across a field of sunflowers.
when she reached the end of it,
she was met with a much older pure being.

“what lies beyond, God?”
“what lies beyond sunflowers,
are moon poppies my dear.
moon poppies are eternal, ever blooming.
they don’t belong on Earth,
only here, at the end of the line.
moon poppies are prettier than the moon!
might even compete with your eyes,
and the song you were singing yesterday.
would you like to see one?”

“must i die to see a moon poppy, Eternal one?”
come, i’ll show you around.”

— The End —