by Mona Yasir

Created on: July 01, 2007

A Gift for the Groom

Cut from a splendid pattern I was sewn
By tailors in the East
Without consent abroad they bid and shook
Their hands in faithful trust

A given and taken token I was
Just one of many gifts
In earnest exchange for a solemn oath
There would be
No return

Deliberately, I was then unwrapped
From box and ribbons carefully removed
And taken with a gasp
Of warm desire against his body clung
Delight escaped his lips
He danced with me and held me to his skin
For size and fitting, testing, trying
Molding, shaping, clinging
His shoulders firm
His scent my breath
His form my own
Until I came to smell of him

A silken hanger where I bowed my head
In pressed perfection rigid youthful form
Forgotten and removed
Enclosed, obliged to wait in closets dark
With all his finest things
They did not dare to look my way nor speak
A muted understanding held my tongue
I lay awake still drowned
By his sound
Longing
For a touch
Am I not his most favoured possession?

He has taken me as far as Agra
Where we slept in countless rooms
And leaned against the basking bricks
Of immortality

My fabric scarred I listen dim and torn
And reach invisibly
To wrap him yet
My task fulfill
I think I still can make him look splendid

Learn more about this author, Mona Yasir.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.