The man who filled me with hungry mouths
Went on in giving me a slow bending
Towards the fragile desire
Doctors recorded in my death report
A dry woman
And dozens of mouths in the shape of wounds.

Slowly loving you
Like a worm, eating carcasses
Oh, the harsh fields
How they hear the battle of death inside a woman
And never moan!

I rest assured when you kissed my wishbone
When you went on kissing me
And in the place of your mouth, you dug a small tomb
A tomb in the size of a worm eating carcasses

I can only polish wounds along my way
Wounds are not open mouths
They are the effect of a long night of harshly making love.

Manahel Alsahoui