a lover once asked me to speak عربي avec lui

I can’t make love in my mother tongue

mon fils doesn’t understand the half of what I say

I write papers in a claiming academic language that belongs to no one

at the publishing house, Safae and I discuss

lovers in the language of our elderly Arab fathers

we smile and reveal our teeth like lovely lemons in the summer

Canan and I text et on prie

on est des branches qui se sont coupées des arbres

my father is the gentle autumn just before I was born

the low light the silence the transience

one day I see a person with a سنونو on their thigh

a waiter with فرشات on his arm and a young woman with a ثعلب on her calf

the way I love is the way I dream

I need a noble being with a fleece and rosewater

under the poplar tree

to hold this body that carries who I am

to cut stripes in my skin

to put something sweet under my tongue

to extinguish my mouth

I’d like to speak to you dans ma langue maternelle

eat melon in front of an open fire and lick your fingers

feed you lemon tart in bed

tell you I want to mais je ne sais pas comment

I

can

love

in

a

لغة

in which

I’m still searching for my remains

Arabic: عربي

swallow: سنونو

butterflies: فرشات

fox: ثعلب

language: لغة