I don’t know what I want from you..
You, your company, your voice, your replacement? In this day and age are we allowed to stumble upon more – before the church bells, creme gowns, daddy’s approvals.
I think, I know what I want.
Sturdy and unconventional, folklore amongst the clique that we’ve created.
Or maybe unlikely because you are Arab and already have yours.
And I am perceived in a different way.
For the moment,
towards you, I feel nothing,
Your photographs only recreate the idea, they don’t reinstall the cinderella feelings.
Towards you, truthfully, I am emotionless,
no butterflies no throbbing no passion in your absence.
Perhaps my sense of comfort is redrawn with your outline,
For now leave me with my dramatic sorrows.
Hello goodbye would have been nice
But let’s stretch this, your hints-my cold shoulder, my fingers-your games.
And tomorrow I will want you more than I did between any sheets.
And you will have forgotten that you liked me for longer.