My queen
Have a wild desire
& she was afraid about her fancy from the followers
*****
She was filled with the fermented fig
& the raisins which disappear in the convolutions of the lips
She was running like a sugar in a salty desert
*****
The smoothness of her fingers
Hugging the feeling of the dry branches in my blood
*****
Her black dress
Informed me that the "Muslin" was inhabited her for a thousand of years
& the crowns of emerald
Did not differ only on her head which is capped by the glories
*****
My queen is another language
This is made from the eagerness of aromas
& the crowns of the pink flowers
I did not understand its meanings
Till I tried all the kinds of the crying
*****
Her breaths
Are a withered fan
This is always accused by poisoning of the noses with the perfume of the forgotten bottles
*****
Her circular hand
Was kneaded the almonds in the vigor container
& build up the traps & the nets
In another circularity of the withered pomegranate pain
*****
Whenever an icon was bloomed in her breast
I became like a prey
I'm faced by a bout of my surrender
under the weight of the gel
*****
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