The itch Fades

Mosquito bites scab over and the itch fades.

Oud notes fade through the patio door into the night and smoke escapes from your lips to mine. I inhale.

I look over the railing into the night at the lights below. The ocean breeze blows through my hair up the mountain above the house to the stars.

I inhale. Smell the sweetness of love ,sweat, grass and dryer sheets. The creaking fan lulls me to sleep while you pray. Alhamdullilah tumbles softly from your mouth.

I am marked by change. By peeling garlic, al jazeera, CNN,  byisis and banana bread, by basbousa. By hot bumpy mountain roads and crystal turquiose water. By sand between my toes and you between my legs. By mosquito bites that sting and tingle down my calf. By sweat that trickles down my neck. By new vistas and old habits.

Love, like surfing, is most dangerous getting in and out of the water. Water that washes over our feet on the beach, over our head when we make wudu. Sips of wine and sips of you wash over me.

I drift while you swim against the current.
Out of sync except when smoke passes between our lips like a spider web. Clinging to the possibility of a life together a life in two places with one heart.

The air lifts me up and I drift like smoke to the stars. I am marked by change.

Mosquito bites scab over and the itch fades. But will you?

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Khadija Ahmed, is a convert to Islam and is an author and educator from Toronto, Canada.

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