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The Casbah stall is just like it was
so long ago when my eyes were filled
with colour, the blue of a crystal dusk.

Fingertips caked with dust
and coffee, they swept across
the cool carpets, so many I can’t choose.

Your peaceful face
so natural, as you rummage
 through a basket of zills

trying to find the notes
to match the symphony
of ringing glass chimes; cresting.

He was carrying a beautiful curtain of small bottles in red and blue and violet.

In the change
of that moment, a shot
and me holding his head

from underneath
the carpet, with dark
spots of red, spreading, in my lap.

I exhale a quiet scream;
and the air became
filled with mint tea

and black khol
that became violet;
wet and grainy.

Fingering the carpet’s sticky silk knots, I wondered if the maker was loved.

That night
my palms opened
waiting to touch you

but my ribs rattled like
hollow chimes, so
you swallowed the sorrow

of my heart;
squeezed by your
strong hands

as I poured over you
so we could be free
once again.

And, if I recall, when it was all over, we gazed so hard at the grey sky and longed for the snowy, white mountains of home.

Posted for dVerse Open Link Night #60 at www.dversepoets.com