Kamand Kojouri

“I awaken by the heat
emanating from your body.
I wash the grapes
and eat the bad ones
so you don’t taste
their bitterness.
You place the bowl
on your stomach
and the cold
makes you squeal.
I smile.
You simper.
That is enough for me.

I come home
and eat my meal
in silence.
I avoid you.
Your hand takes the dish
I just placed in the sink
and washes it.
I rest my head
on the wooden table.
The dish is placed to dry.
There are no footsteps.
Then
a mouth kisses the nape
of my neck.
My head sinks deep into the wood
and my obstinacy drowns.
That is enough for me.

I write because
of you,
about you and
for you.
I will not perish
when you leave
for your existence
is enough for me.”

Kamand Kojouri