Conversations between shuffling feet
swollen, popping blue veins.
My toes store most
memories, and the instant in
which the homophobia of
Shikari Shambu has been
deeply imprinted on the
sole.
And then while you were
weeping tears and an
adult-tree was whipping
its leaves across faith, the
toes curled into themselves,
And I dug myself deeper between
Habib and Nizami, to lose
myself in rose-kissed dark
silk of robes of unknown
betrayers.
All the while, my sole shedding
old naive skin.
