You’re seeing her naked for the first time, her olive skin is shimmering through the florescent lights. Her hair filled with henna, you despise it but are blinded by the hardness in your pants and how black every strand it.

You want to shout the word God, the word that you’ve been exhaling every time you see something as beautiful but you can’t because this is everything you are not supposed to see and feel but she is there; she is yours now, you are the only one she has.

Raise your hand and Say “Allahu Akbar”:
You walk up to her while unbuckling your pants, she’s watching you, she’s shaking in fear but you don’t care so you feel her two and you are astonished because you’ve only felt like this once when your second cousin Khaled brought some magazines to the camp but their breasts were bigger, you want to be disappointed, you want to take her back to her father but you only cup her breasts and feel your hands beneath the hair standing up refusing to be yours.

Repeat “Allahu Akbar”:
It doesn’t matter, you think. In front of God and all his servants, today, the sheikh declared her yours.

Her skin will oblige by time.