NALÎ

Interlace

The raven ringlet, wafting black against your shining face,

is smoke from incense, curling dark across a fireplace.

A hundred fractures rack my hand: a hundred vows you break.

The only remedy will be to bind this hand in your embrace.

Your freckle? Fruit forbidden in the Eden of your face.

Your eyes? Two idols tempting from your brow where faithful pray.

Last night your hair caressed my head, your ringlet like a wraith,

and still my head is reeling from the high of your moonflower bouquet.

Your lops have never offered me a promise in good faith.

All told, you are a flower, though unscented, lacking grace.

My love, let’s wear this new ghazal of verses interlaced.

Your stature bears aloft the majesty of Nali’s phrase.