We are products of war
rising up from ashes –
rebirthing of a phoenix.
Sometimes in her sleep, the cold seeps
into the periosteum and osteon of
my circadian rhythms, altering
threads of consciousness –
the opposite of knitting where
yarn is un-stitched instead, and interlocked
with the axons of my peripheral nervous system,
connecting our bodies so that we are
one. And I move when she dreams,
inhale after her exhale
fills the galaxy within my eyes.
© Fiza Arshad, 2016 All rights reserved.