I will be loving you for always
He told her
the night he left Chefchaouen.
Her cumin skin couldn't
hold him—
His blue-white eyes had gone.
Her long dark hair hang
hurting
tangled among the Mosques
as her dusty feet start
stumbling—
stepping out her loss.
My heart could love here for all days
he had told her
behind tawny stalls and spice
but his foreign hands left
all the same—
his souvenir, her sacrifice.
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