With every morning breath

I dream of your desert.

With every breath I weave,

chanting your name,

awakening memories,

captured in moments of fragrance

a rosary of jasmine in your wet hair,

tethered by your songline.

When reason collapses

desire turns to devotion

in the frenzy of junoon

in a state of wajd —

and saudade itself is surrendered

in reverence.

With every breath I weave the rosary,

chanting your name,

dreaming in your desert.