Long are the days
of hapless persons...

This morning air slipped into my heart with
a somber spell; I inhaled displeasure...

The hills were steep,
do not push your fragile ankles up there...

Deeply and thoroughly
you strike in daylight...

I like to think
that he walks me still...

..as more mornings continue to vigorously crack...
the little things resting on the edge of dust...

Your absence spoke in crowds,
it said you came like a green cloud...

Yesterday,
my heart was embroidered...

You were not my past;
you were the lost intervals...

Behind the outworn branches, a white stream...
By: Rania Moallem...

Collab with Britt
Dreary gusts blow dutifully...

His compassion, like an old tree
strangles my sentiments with its...