Storm عاصفة...

Storm عاصفة…
I remember how you feel,
With your hands,
Around my waist like that,
Your thighs,
Around my hips like that,
Asking me,
“Is this what in love is like?”

Your voice, from far away,
If only once,
To hear again.

“Hi, habibti.”

“My Prince.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear only those two words, my love.”

“I’m here for you, Prince. To make every part of you feel whole.”

“What would you do if I was right there, rouhi?”

“Continue our kiss from a night ago, Neshama sheli."

“And how can I make you feel I am right there with you, mami?”

“Tell me in only your words, Prince, how it would feel, from groin to tip, you inside of me. You to trust only me with all those sacred parts of you to please.” Or, something like that, If you said to me.

Tell me if lying to the right of you,
I am on your chest,
Where you would,
Want my hand to be.
On your heart,
Your tatted forearm,
Your stomach,
Or, between your thighs,
Feeling how perfect, and,
Imagining,
You barely,
Slipping inside,
You, for the first time.

If I do not know all the ways,
Tell me how to please you,
So I can keep you hard.
Whispering to me,
More,
How to do all the things,
You desire,
So all you think about,
Are the things that make you,
Smile for a while.

These are the talks I wish with you,
Again,
Before, you,
Storm عاصفة…
Leave a waterfront,
Where we sat once, holding hands.

Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love.