it's you ...
wish you could know ...
how much i loved you ..
and still do ...
loving you ..
and never loved anyone..
over you ...
it's you ..
whom i always write about ..
always i'm writing you ..
as a letters ..
to be my poem ...
which tells about you ...
even writing you into me bed..
to be the lady ..
whom always sharing me ..
my feeling and my heart ..
soul and body ...
wish you could know ..
it's me sweetheart..
whom love you ..
while you still don't know ..
yes sweetheart...
it's me sweet lady mine ..
whom sharing you always ..
your nights ..
your dreams...
and every new morning..
it's me who always say to you ..
good morning sweetheart..
with a big hug every day ...
yes..
it's you ..
whom i loved ..
and loving ..
and will love you forever..
till the last breathe lust ..
yes baby mine...
it's you ..
it's you sweetheart..
last night we made that love..
through mind and soul ...
even ask your heart..
hear it ..
it beats with my name ..
love you ...
yes my angel ...
it's you ...

hazem al..

There is blood on the brain,
Your hair on my floor,
Your glass still on my table
To evidence the night before.

You were a kindness,
My fantasy, my misery;
Blowing smoke out of the open door.
Brief surrender under the shelter of
Our shared and selfish storm.

You brushed your teeth in the mirror,
Heard you sing as you tied your shoes.
It was all you as you stared at your phone,
As I disappeared from your easy view.

You were vague and authentic,
Quick to the bone; the truth.
A desert scene of transparency-
I held you high and soft
Beneath the neutral moon.

There is warmth after rain
From where your light came through.
Sat here again, a drink in hand,
Toasting the shadow of you.

the red wine slurs
that stain my teeth
boil behind bones.
your crimson hurt
and clumsy feet
shake this glass home.

the cracks creep up
and take their hold,
crush the veins that
had gave them gold.

you are not mining for coal, you
take what you want and now you'll go.
my blood underneath your nails,
secrets that were not mine to tell.

in this pasture,
one hundred days past,
scores cheered as the current coursed
through Bundy's body

this evening, I am here,
solitaire, except for my *****,
the cattle, and the fireflies sprinkled
against the night

my spaniel nips
at the flies, but they are quick,
eluding her jaws to perform
a brilliant alchemy again

amidst this spectacle,
cows chew their cud, unperturbed, unaware
it seems, magical lightning comes without
thunder from these creatures

the bovines don't scatter
as I walk among them--perhaps they’ve forgotten
those revelers here on a crisp winter night, eager
to celebrate an extinguishing of light