Poem: Naqsha

I am not a cartographer –

I do not feign intimate knowledge of topography,

but when I touch your face

my fingers trace invisible borders, caress

winding ivy-like tributaries, mountain ranges and flora

unbeknown to anyone, because even you –

(especially you, O Exonym)

– do not realize the intricate beauty

that I see so plainly on your face,

and you ask me why I cup your cheek, hold your chin, press

my thumb against your dimples, run my lips over your cheekbones

(gingerly, shyly; like fragile buds that bloom anew):

every explorer has her compass –

but my compass rose is lost in you.

Poetry! What? That’s a thing I’ve been dabbling in for a few years now, but this is the only one I’ve felt comfortable enough to share in public. Mostly because if my creative writing professor thinks it’s good enough to want to grade, I figure it has some merit. Maybe I’ll put up more poetry? We’ll see.

Also, housekeeping! I changed the name of the blog. Why? Because I realized how uncomfortable Neiha Thinks This made me feel and all I ever actually do is wax poetic. Gonna be overhauling the look of the blog over the next few weeks, mostly because I have a very talented creative multimedia artist for a best friend. Bless.


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