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a mysterious,
forbidden,
segment of the population.
Now, I think about her.
Her fingers,
wandering the length of my spine.
Her ribs,
rising and falling with breath,
as they press against my chest.
Her hair,
silky and fine,
vanilla-infused,
tickling my throat.
I think about intimacy—
and not as the necessary exploit
of an arranged union.
I think about intimacy withher.
I will endure her mother’s wrath
a thousand times
for the chance to touch her again.
Later, she calls to tell me that
she will come to our cottage for lunch.
My veins flood with
relief,
excitement,
anxiety…
Friendships between girls and boys
defy Islamic ideals,
but Baba is sympathetic;
he understands the Western way,
