I like the way your hair waves off your forehead
in a gentle tide; the way your eyes crinkle
up small as you smile wide; your ears flush red
when you’re discomfited; the unpaired dimple
on the left corner of your mouth. My delight
stems from ordinary things, from the simple
halo of your hair on my pillow, the sunlight
striking it aslant, dusting it in sprinkles.
The somewhat stale-warm morning breath of the room,
yours mingled in it, therefore heady like perfume;
your half-open palm a boon and a promise
unfurling around my days, one hallowed world
tucked in your limbs, lines of thigh and waist, back curledunder the covers. No greater peace or bliss.
Still somewhat taken up with the breaking of rules, not for art or some serious reason like that. Just to see how it feels like, if poetry feels like poetry if it snaps a few strict ones...The word sonnet comes from 'little song' and mine is that still, quite little, littler than fourteen even :)
It's the start of the Ramadan here where I am, and one has to be in Arablands to appreciate that austerity and introspection and prayer and joyfulness and exuberance can combine so seamlessly, and in so many ways. Peace and bliss. They do it in some style.
If you are observing, then my greetings and best wishes to you for a serene and successful holy month, may you find what you are looking for and draw closer to your spiritual goals.
And if you're not, like me, then just dig into the food served at iftars, wherever you are. This is my time of the year to go haleem hunting. Peace and bliss of a different order entirely! :)