Monologue with an aubade

Monologue with an aubade


you birded us a midnight hymn – two

waxwings nesting on a branch

of the poplar tree. you wind a soft moan

& our bodies’ become more milk than dairy


the night is unfurling into desolation, shadows

are dusking into oblivion. the air is

enchanting & torrents of songs fill

my voice box. this is an aubade for the

survivors – two wolves wandering in the forest

of their romance. turning tall trees to a

tower of intimacy.


every new day we pick the pieces of the

night that fell. & sketch a map to fit the

distance our bodies’ covered throughout

the night. take orgasm as the borderline

between elevation & depression. we have

become a graphical equation where

x & y are axes that crosscut each other.

which is to say we are an intersection

of ourselves.


on the shoreline, we carved hieroglyphs

out of the water & drowned the oath

down our gullets. I want to dig an outlet

for this aubade nestled inside my lungs

to ocean the desert of your palms &

turn your flowers into a garden of splendour.

I can’t wait to drag vermilion through the

parting of your hair & make a path for

us to tread into the forest of foreverness.


& this is my song for you: fireflies, little star,

a blanket of furs, a dazzling mirror, a

bouquet of daises, a cup of hot coffee,

a love parcel, a swim in the beach,

bedtime poems, Michael, Sarah &

a family photo on a dhow

sailing across the ocean



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