The woman in love has
Eyes like saucers
Jammed with quivering worms
Blind of sight, her nostrils
Sharp to smells of darkened corners
Pale and warm, her thighs
Yearn to embrace the emerging
Object into the hollow of her
Pit, to weave a web ‘round the face
Of the desired, to feast on
Chunks of love
She has a womb
For rent, a cunt
To donate
Her limbs bend her body chant her nails sink her hands grab She opens her mouth like fish; shuts her mouth
She floats on waves withered and limp, Alas
Alas The woman in-love is the sacred
Lilith In constant fall and rise
Saghi Ghahraman 2001