Home

Is love
Can be found softly resting
Intertwined in the arms
Of an embrace
Heartfelt
Or the small space
That sits between the shake of two hands
That come to each other with nothing
But peace

Is familiar territory
And sometimes not
For the character within
Those four walls
Can turn any dwelling homely
But is most at home
At home

I have done neither
Love
Nor home justice
My words tremble
At the thought
Of their reality

Layla

That mystery
That spoke to me
In interrupted silence
A language so clear
And polluted
There's something about her
She comes alive in herself
Serene and superficial
Silent and deafening
Starry eyed when she appears clearly
Sheltering and exposing
Its as if sometimes
The rules don't apply to her
But still after dusk
She's at it again
What a sight in the city
She competes with it
For light
You know her name
At times I feel insane
Majnoon if you will
But I join a hundred others
Necks strained
And she has the time
For the lovers
Whisperers, screamers
And the ones barely breathing
The prayers
None prey after her
But many pray after her
Some cannot love her in her absence
And forget their odes to her later
And when she arrives again
She'll be the same Layla