the charcoal's feathery ash
and fire rekindles in his eyes.
Black down on his upper lip
wispy as the smoke.
He sits cross-legged and barefoot
hunched over the brazier,
another pellet pinched between his fingers.
Beautiful. Dutiful.
He tamps tobacco into
the clay bowl that nests the dream.
Far away. Here.
Then tends the embers placed on top.
The nargile passes from
Samir to Badr
onto Fouad, then me.
Hashish, Hadi hisses
with a winsome smile.
My cock stiffens hard as the pipe stem
dropped onto my lap.
Dorak (it's your turn), reminds my lover
beside me, knee nudging knee.
I don't wipe his spittle off the tip.
Minower (you bring in the light), Hadi whispers.
Inta minower (it's you who does that), I reply,
expelling the cloud
sucked deep down into my chest.
The night will claim me till dawn.
But I am taken otherwise, so must
refuse what is not rightly mine.
Previously published in a slightly different form in A Cautionary Tale (Uphook Press 2008), and Your Infidel Eyes (Poets Wear Prada 2006).

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