call it what you may..

[patigallego]

Dora habibi spinning olives,
Her hummus, delicate yet experienced.
Soft enough for the untrained teeth of a child,
Coarse enough for the decaying smile of a dying shah.
Lost in a desert somewhere,
Lies a post it with a family secret,
The secret of generations of a race,
Not spiritual nor ethnic nor geographic.
Somewhere lies that identity;
Which outlines for us rotations of the spirit,
Circumventing emotion with ease,
Leaving us the slightest difficulty to appease.
Somewhere is that candy apple,
Covered in caramel before our eyes.
The secret to our happiness,
Revealed to us between their thighs.
Temptation so permanent,
Yet gratification so fleeting.
Will we ever know how or why?
And if we had the answers would it be cheating?