Carry me, you said
Because death is the breath
that melts my joints into the holes
of your words-
Do us part: I like saying it
over and over in my head.
As if I could teach eternity
to my bones.

My bones are dead and brittle: and deep sighs between my lungs.
Your perfume gives me anxiety.

When I carry you, We will die.
When I melt because of you,
and you die because of me;
To become one, is what they call it
But I want you to tell me:
Who was unfaithful to whom?

If I sacrifice myself to love another- am I lost (loss to my culture, my home, my traditions, hopes, dreams, vision…) to myself? When I do not dream, and I lay myself down for you: do I not die? Do I not turn from myself and begin to exist (or do I become extinct?) for and because of you? In that case, you have colonized my being and there is no longer you and me, me falling for you (because there is no longer action within me—for I am dead), but there is now only you and
You and
and you and
If I asked you to let me carry you,
let your bones be resurrected by my love- my song, it would never be you: there would only be me and my song—and the world, my world, would never know that love could have been full.