Womb of Melody
Istanbul ‘15 | ‘18
I sucked the mercimek up through a straw
Isn’t it more deserving to be drunk where it is forbidden? 
Nelson told the drummer his name
But that she could call him by whatever she chose
You see, salhep is no longer served on the corner
Gentrinaaiers baying at the hem of Galata
We found the outdoor cinema long after it had closed down
Your room filled with the pictures I had taken of a next time that never came 
I passed Dylan Carlson a night or so after he’d made honey in a lion’s skull 
You made sure I remember the word for wine is sarap
But not that passive aggression is abusive 
And that vomitting with the lights off attracts greater attention  
The plastic bags are black if you’re only buying beer
My own private ezan, bilmiyorum
There must be a Warpaint song to describe it
We talked about the films we had seen, anything but my daughter
Then dissolved into the shape of a horseshoe
Leb-i derya, on the lips of the sea, we parted

You should have been there, but I wasn’t