By Fady Joudah

You’re right about the praise I dish your way
jail’s the comeuppance of a liar poet

My only want is your content and if I hold
another want may I never be granted it

Each full moon is born of a crescent
yet what’s a full moon got

and the morning sees me with eyes of dew

a fever that breaks out
on your integument

On your skin exanthem
is a pasture of anemones

Because you’re one of them
I love my enemies

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