“Be my lover between two wars waged in the mirror, she said. I don't want to return now to the fortress of my father's house. Take me to your vineyard. Let me meet your mother. Perfume me with basil water. Arrange me on silver dishes, comb me, imprison me in your name, let love kill me.” PoetryMiddle EastThe Death Of The Phoenix Book:Unfortunately, it was Paradise: Selected Poems Source: Unfortunately, it was Paradise: Selected Poems