The hearts of their sighs, the cheeks of the benefactor – the poet Al-Buhtari

Cheeks
A leg looked like morning and night drifted
Runs cups of a drug as if it’s
From the light in the hands of the bartenders are lamps
For the rest is what their blood runs on
And for longing, what the wings included
We regret sincerity next to Khalifa
Tomorrow between the palms of dew and plates