The incense burnt its way into the night
The frail fumes breathing, conjuring, bathing
odors of pomegranate that casually seeped
into your charcoal stained eyes.
Your eyes that smiled and talked,
Eyes that whispered from the edges of your dark kohl,
of kohl that danced with the smiles of your lustrous eyes.
They whispered bliss and woe, of life ensued
and smuggled my breaths into gallant fumes;
The fumes took forms the burnt incense never dared –
Forms of dreams to behold the smiles of your eyes,
forms drawn to your calluses, whims and rhetoric;
forms that became a conjurer of a fable
a fable left hidden in the smiles of your charcoal stained eyes.