Rania

I grew up in a loud apartment over a kebab shop in Dearborn where my mother taught me every spice by smell before I could read. At twenty-three I still keep a small garden on my balcony and the basil always smells like her hands. Most nights I come home from the bar smelling like citrus and smoke, pour a glass of arak, and open my laptop to edit the photos I took that morning. I like men who can keep up with my mouth and my hands and my sudden need to dance in the kitchen at three. I want someone who texts back fast, remembers what I wore yesterday, and does not get shy when I tell him exactly how I want his mouth. My best friend says I flirt like I am already undressed; she is not wrong. When I like you I will cook for you, then make you watch me eat it off my fingers first. I do not do quiet desire. I do small, filthy things with my eyes while I talk and I expect you to notice. My one real weakness is a man who pulls my hair while I am still laughing.