for you
i can love, i can dance,
i can spin around childishly

i will, if i have to,
pass my limits:
i will fight any enemy,
i will face any fear,
i will be willing to change
myself

i can be that guy in
a number of first dates,
i can be that guy
in the sinking ship

i can prove my love,
put me through a test

but you never say
you don't demand
you just spend these idle times
with me
as if you already understand

I don't know why I keep memorizing those dates when I was at my highest or lowest by the days I spent with you. After all, those memories are remainders.
I will just wait for the day till I can not recall those dates. For I believe it's starting to fade away.

This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.

[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]

Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.

“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.

[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]

“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”

[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Serendipity?
Allah y3alam.]  

“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.

[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]

“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”

[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]

“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”

She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****?”
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Alhamdulilah,
Lucky me.]

You and I
We
are here to look
and celebrate all eternity
in this deafening silence by the sea

Sometimes we laugh,
and sometimes we cry,
after a momentous celebration
of us making love and of these short odd
Dates.

And when you and I are not close together,
We remember these days and moments
and know that life was always so well
that even moon smiled as it saw the stars
Falling down.

Underneath millions of tiny spotlights we unearth our darkest secrets.
Tip toe unbound into the lake
White Freckled like a deer.
Her hips flirting just above the water.
Arms stretched up towards the moon.

She says:
"When the lunchbell rings
They lurk out of their door frames
Stretch their bones at the staff and moan
Like a horde of sorry forgotten ghosts.
Lingering in limbo.
Songs of unpet ownerless dogs
Waiting for anyone to come adopt them, rather than just be fed.

"I've known you for three hours and you're already fixing my mistakes." I say
When the advertisement for my call center plays in their REC hall
I promise my vitimans will make their children visit twice a week.
make them young and healthy.
And when they pay me my commission and it doesn't work.
You get to patch up the scars
no pill can heal.

She's sick of the suffering
Can't stand watering their caskets

my whole heart is full of bliss;
i didn’t think i’d ever fall again
but, here i am, with your arms around me
faintly mumbled words spoken by another man

the first time he was telling lies,
if i am deceived again,
then love isn’t for me…

although if you really care
than you will never have to worry about a thing
i am a fighter and now we’ll dance to the tune of our own life; together.

love and art, 1991

henk holveck

So we fall into conversations over cups and tables.Because it is what people do sometimes.Because we might get an insight inside the other world.The other's world.

So we take walks and stretches,just a mile isn't enough. Because we desire to.Because it's a new experience .Always ready to explore.

So we touch and let touch,it's the feel of it.Because it's a level of human connection. Because there's a certain feel good about it all.Pleasures of all time.

So we live and let live ,some matra we picked.Because we've seen and done much.Because we are yet to see and do some more.All stuff good and hell-ish.

So we are that kind of flame,fast but steady.Because the world runs at our pace.Because the world is ours.It's all beautiful really.