Slow, inhale, the chica said
Hmmm, the moro made instead
Skin warm like embraced bread
Steamy salt just spread

Writing on a paper with letterhead
Feelings heavy, sinking lead
Suomi is not for the crossbred
It drains you, bucket in a watershed

Pen scratched 'til the ink bled
Words pour out, emotions fed
Confessions surface, fears are shed
Some truths remain unsaid

A spark among the fog arrayed
Pshhh, vapour from cascade
We're exposed, strangers, I'm afraid
No worries, distance still retained

Space between, respect is paid
Stones' echo in a roar played
Silent whispers softly swayed
In this warmth, some qualms allayed

Sorrows remembered, secrets we dread
Memories woven in a thick thread
Just so much in one's head
Another book not easily read

— Mohamed Louanjli, 2024