Red nails, plush lips, long skirt wrapping wide hips,
42D, 5-foot inch 3. Unquestioned, your man is me.

With him, a man, as our lips softly meet.
With her, a woman, as our hips touch and our tongues greet.

I wish for your firm lips and warm body,
but your bed is left undesirable where your sex has laid.

I watched as my gender set itself adrift,
I blessed its journey, for the courage to be lost to the world.

8 hours later:
On the day of the nightclub shooting
I held myself, alone, in a house of six.

15 hours later:
When the lowered sun dimly lit the Masjid’s asphalt,
my lips were sealed, lest my grief be revealed.

5 days later:
Every week he slammed terrorists on his mimbar, but
today, not a whisper for his homeland, for Orlando.

In the same moment,
The mimbar blued, his voice blurred
as silence held.