Yeheya’s Portrait of a Poet

The charcoal lines of her wide hips hiking

up to meet my blackened fingertips; at a distance

I was certain she would sit with me, and watch

my sketchbook fill with dim figures

as sunset gave way to dusk and stars.

The sand beneath our feet was still and still

it spread inside hollows of my paper’s

heavy tooth; texture held her blurry frame

as she inhaled my hand-rolled hash and exhaled

the Milky Way; her reason and her judgment

wage war against passion and appetite.

                                My hand held on to her

words, incessantly inserting letters—

where her hair should be an Arabic ح

wraps around her square ث face and س breasts

her long أ legs; her body belongs

to calligraphy; lingering silence

between each mid-August meteoroid

alight on earth’s cold edge of endless space.

I handed her my cigarette before

she took it to her sunburned lips, and let

the smoke return to her a sense of sin;

the desert inside her.