The season reminisces about our misty love
for poetry and makbara at every sunrise.
The cold air and bare branches
recall your warm embraces.
The long winter evenings muse on our
strolls in bylanes of the city of pearls.
The brown zig-zag lines of the white hand yearns
and the blueberry bed-sheet revolts.
November sets in.
The rains long for the sun.
Love awaits.
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