What are you curious about?

the specific heat of a man’s remorse
when he kneels to braid your hair with orange blossom
and confesses he left his wife in Jeddah
but brought your letters
folded in the shape of an ibis.

Curious about how long a grape must dry
in the Moroccan sun
before it remembers it was once wine,
and whether forgiveness smells more like za’atar
or a passport wrapped in mudcloth and sweat.

I’m curious about women
who pour sandalwood on a wound
instead of water,
who salt their baths with old lovers’ names,
and who pray best without shoes.

Curious how many languages
you can scream in
before border control shows up.
About how my hands learned to knead grief
into dough for flatbread.

Curious if longing
has a botanical name.
If hashish counts as holy.
If the body ever forgets
the dialect of someone
who loved it wrong /
but deep.