will you be fireballs hurling themselves at me?
I am moth annoying vitriolic and godless
will you catch me in a net then wrap me up
in some paper mache like a belated farewell present
will you give me gentle hand grips and the space I need
to feel sorry for myself?
will you let apples grow from your eyes and drop
into my cave mouth? can I tell you about
the fairy garden hidden inside my makeup drawer?
come with me where we can be an earthquake
where we can be world-defying nuisances
and have a dark billowy romance
with dead frog rosaries hanging
from the ceiling on our wedding night
I hope you smell like forests sweltering
under an undiscovered sun I hope you look like
raindrops enveloped in a pearl casing I hope
you taste like vermicelli in sweetened milk
I hope you like to read about the bloody legacies
of British colonialism how we are implicated
in each other’s histories I hope you let me buy you corpse lilies
can I call you darling sometimes?
only when we’re feeling frisky and a bit haram
let’s decompose into old soil—dig your teeth
into my palms and I will scream your name
Sidrah Zubair is a poet and (soon-to-be) English teacher living and working in London. She completed her BA from Goldsmiths and MA in Creative Writing from Durham. Her previous poetry can be found in PERVERSE, bath magg and Poetry Birmingham Literary Journal.