called to frankincense
By: ShinigamiForever

It is horrible to know
that you don't even blink when you hear
my name. I do.

When I try to approach you,
there are foghorns
where conversation once was.

I can barely remember your face
but I know that I once thought
your hair felt rather like straw
and your eyes held many oaths
and your mouth was like velvet brocade:
deceptively soft, a delicate liar, maroon.

There is nothing I want more
than to go somewhere
warm and dusty with you, somewhere
almost cruel in its calmness.

You blow by like stone wind and paper.
I can smell the pepper in the shadows. I am
supposed to write something
vague
about Islam and Muslims,
cinnamon, Arabic enlightenment, palace walls, maybe.
On the first line
I wrote the word smoke
and suddenly thought of you
as I had not done for days and days.

A/N: We are learning about Muslim culture in history class.