Only me and him on the island of Lesbos, where for me the sun and his red hair rise together for the morning. We beat and pray, you are wet, you are praying, Asr, and he is wearing his white silk shirt, and I am drowning in the tension in the shelter of his neck. He does not come and again, my encounter with his lusts, from which lust arises, I kiss them like sacred objects that my need is met, I slowly circumambulate around him and whisper under his ear, my Aphrodite is tickled and her heart aches and laughs And I laugh at his laughter. Now, behind me, I hardly remove the rebellious designs that are not tied to the tomato above his head, so that the marble altar of his neck is manifested on me, and now my lips and mouth are engaged in remembrance and the beads. The backs of the beads of the rosary now the god himself turns to the slave, and I seem to faint like Moses when he bends down and nurtures a servant.Only when we return to the throne, when we see that we are in a daze, do we hold each other tightly at the end of the sunset, and run barefoot on the golden sands of the beach with our bare feet and sing. We sit and laugh and cry together and tell a story about the island of Lesbos where there are no secrets.
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Date: November 17, 2018
