the coldplay sunrise danced to the dissertation of your picasso heartbeat, echoing with a zephyr's rhapsody of violet strings. and your skin was like egyptian manuscripts telling a story of the daughter of the sun and moon. do you remember how we used to draw pictures on the sand dunes? they were stick-figure versions of us. and in that exact moment, i vowed i would protect you from pirates when we'd get shipwrecked in a mirage.
akela, we promised each other we'd meet back at the tahrir square at the night of july's second full moon. i'll be the boy with the yellow hoodie and white mignonettes and you'll be the girl in the short teal dress with lace sleeves and a bright isis smile. i made a wish for you before that night of the blue moon and i committed the color of your eyes to memory because they reminded me of minaret ornaments demystifying the desert city skyline.
you used to dress up as a boy when you were younger because life was hard on the streets and we used to chase each other through the rare southern cairo rain as droplets genuflected on our palms.
akela, take me back to the beginning where we used to lie on the grass, singing our poetry to the papyrus stars where the ghosts in our dreams came back to haunt us.