Alysia Harris is currently a PhD candidate in the Department of Linguistics at Yale University. She is the cofounder of the Brooklyn Mystics, Artists and Poets’ Discussion & Dinner Series. She is also a member of the writing collective, The Strivers Row and currently resides in New Haven, Connecticut and Brooklyn, New York.
GHAZAL # 4
What you call sweetness is not love.
Her sugar maggots will rot love.
A beast, the heart tears free of pledge.
Fishing nets have never caught love.
My mother scalded me with truth
to cleanse. This is how she taught love.
Of course it beats but can it break?
The bootleg version ain’t worth snot, love!
Once Rorschach-drunk with a litmus kiss
I asked the bartender to blot love.
Compassion or lust that turns to salt?
An ebenezer still for Lot’s love.
I am torn ragged at the seams.
His practiced hands knot love.
Thank the handsome one for my brass-
knuckle smile. I’m the 9 that shot love.
A cross to string my diamond heart.
I can’t wear the gift, O Lost Love.