No warm shower of preparation
or faint wisps of cologne at
my wrist where the blood throbs hard.
I shall walk through your doors straight
and unkempt; my shirt untucked,
my hair ruffled, burnt to brown
from long summers I endured
searching souls of your kind.
So that when you cling to me,
you inhale the impatient nights of
sleeplessness imbued in my skin,
like soot settled on city trees
gasping for rain...

- Sobhan