Beirut, my birthmark,
What came with you, Beirut,
Bullets before my mother’s milk,
Beirut,
You are under my skin.
Split bit by bit,
You melt into sunset,
On blistered rooftops.
It hurts to touch you, Beirut,
You are a lesson I’ll never learn.
It hurts to love you Beirut,
But I still knock at your door at 4:00am.
When the neon lights in your neighbourhood are dwindling,
When the political chants in your square are soothed,
I will stay outside your door.
I know you’ll never open for me.
Beirut, I kissed your cracked sidewalks
And slept huddled against your bullet-ridden walls.
You and I,
It’s a love story for the books.
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