My love

My love

My love is a suicide seed.
It can’t repeat,
has sterile fruit,
is no more than a tiny casket of dust, a residue of last year’s bloom.

One small spurt, an outcrop,
a long long
time ago

and then,
and now, nothing:
husk of musk, barren dirt.

Is this God’s way of making me come back to the source,

so that I will
pay
again?

My love was first published in Some Other Damn Rainbow -Unsanctioned Writing of the Middle East, ed. Hind Shoufani (Beirut) 2012