Poetry

Rumi’s Field

We spend the night tracing
Rumi’s poetry on each other’s back
Our fingers travelling down
Each other’s spine
Drawing flowers and whispering
‘This night is our field,
We will meet here again’
In each other’s ears
Too afraid to say it loudly
Just in case the murmur
Of our excited voices
Breaks the invisible barrier
That exists between us
And all that lies beyond the curves
Of our entwined bodies.
I imagine plucking
Star-shaped flowers from the sky
And making constellations
From my gaze
On the loose strands framing
Her knowing face
Each time I stroke her hair.
She pulls me closer
And I ask,
‘What will we do
The next time we meet here?’
‘This is our field’,
She repeats again
‘So each time we meet
We will plant more flowers
And carry the fragrance home
And then whenever a gust of wind
Will meet us halfway
It will remind us to
Leave our doors open
So that we can drop by
Each other’s lives
Once again.’

This story was about: Lesbianism Sexuality

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The student that always has her hand up in class, and in life. Dreams of a world where Lizzo's songs automatically shower glitter on the listener, minorities are not constantly expected to put in unequal emotional labour for everything, and kind people find each other despite all the noise.
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Khushi

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