It would be senseless to question
such a birth as tulips
burrowed fetuses
strapped to seams of soil
i lay to wait for times to come
Till then I ponder

So that I may stroke the adolescent legs of a lover
muddle with shy modest faces
laugh delicately between secret irises
buttermilk kisses
to tease
Arab women
Wrapped with the clench of a deity

Or shall you hide between tweaked petals
till the womb that enjoyed you
Cannibalistically swallows you up?

Wiping dew tears from your cheeks
lost in morning mosques
the aroma of my masked mother
It is not for her, to show her face.
to peer through petals.
so says the god who talks in old pages.