Manal
Without landmarks ..
Without residence ..
Streets are shorter than my steps.
They are clean enough to cause depression.
They danced ..
when I threw a tissue in them.
A dream inhabited them.
Then ..
Wherever I go, their smell slapped me.
O Manal, I certify:
The sweat, which flowed from your armpit on my chest, fruited forests of pain, where I saw my ugliness.
It fruited a map of your face. .
Where it has landmarks
And it has residence.
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