Author: Serena Attieh

Hair like rivers flowing, dark silk that won’t lie flat, rebellion against scorching fire. Skin the shade of sun-baked clay, the color of deserts with orchard at harvest undertones. A nose carved like a ridge of stone, molded against the wind – unmoved, rough, unsoftened. Eyes as deep as olives at harvest: bitter and dark,…

How is it that your absence lingers shorter than your presence wanes? Fewer breaths than it takes smoke to rise from crushed remains, Fewer beats than the tremble when your last note slows; My lipstick still smudged on the wine glass, witness to what nobody knows. Swear it was just vivid, once divine,  Shadows in…