Naughty me, forgive the jest,
My magic watch won’t let me rest.
It whispers secrets, sly and sweet,
Of what you wear beneath the sheet.
Yet strange—it tells me none at all,
Perhaps it runs ten minutes tall.
So shall we dance, my daring catch,
To the ticking of my watch
Or let my heart set out the beat,
Where time and reason both retreat?
For both, I swear, make madness true,
And both, my love, now point to you.

My heart begins to stir.
No love, a bucket dry,
A life I can't prefer.

Oh, face so lovely bright,
You're hope's only gleam.
That wine, it calls to me,
A blissful, hazy dream.

Make me drunk and deep,
Let slumber claim my soul.
Let silence fill the space,
Beyond my own control.

If love you have to give,
Then give it, freely poured.
For love's sweet goddess' sake,
Or leave me, unexplored.

To sit, unseen, unknown,
Beneath the jasmine's shade,
Where dreaming softly lies,
A life, gently swayed.

In Cairo’s haze, a café’s glow,
a woman sat, in seventies’ grace
her eyes held oceans of memory,
watching the river of life flow.
Shisha smoke curled like fleeting art,
her smile reached quietly into my heart.
Her face—a map of sun and years
shone with a calm that silenced fears.
“Madam,” I asked, “your secret bright
how do you shine with such pure light?”
She smiled, a whisper soft, concise:
“When ignorance began to rise,
I only said: ‘You are right… indeed.’”
I frowned, still caught in puzzled fight.
“Is that not wearying, endless night?”
She leaned, her gaze like fading skies,
and whispered deep with knowing eyes:
“You are right…”

To turn a blind eye to the hunger of the poor,
then raise for them luxurious temples
where they may kneel in complaint of hunger,
and whisper their prayers to poverty
on thresholds paved with gold.

Hold your secret, soft and deep,
While silent, watchful thoughts you keep.
A human ear, though kind and dear,
Might let your tender whisper hear.

Go to glass, so still and bright,
And pour your heart into its light.
It listens close with silent gaze,
Through all your hidden, winding ways.

No judging word, no sudden sting,
Just quiet truth the echoes bring.
If sorrow blooms from what you find,
That wound is only for your mind.

Inhale, beloved, inhale
the crystal pipe is a serpent’s throat,
its song coils in your lungs.
Inhale.
Spun is a secret name,
a name written on the ash of angels.
Inhale that name.
Inhale the mask they call sane,
and watch it fracture in your breath.
Inhale.
Let the calendar burn
forget the birthdate,
forget the ledger of the stars.
Inhale.
Unfasten the chain of purpose,
loosen the tongue of memory,
let your name fall silent
into the smoke.
Inhale.

You are my Favorite spoon.
Rascal said,
Words so wicked, sweet, and soon.
Rascal said,
With flaming fingers I’ll unroll your hidden pages.
Rascal said,
More, and more
yet some I cannot say.
And I
blushed like a peach split open by summer’s teeth.
Rascal said.