Dimitar Georgieff- Dakov

With dry fingers,
with scars of thorns unsatiable,
hidden in furs like parchments,
I go by sense of touch
for your bedding,
I dig a draw well
with tears of excitement.
I can in this desert
from your flower
to squeeze out moisture.
Primary"m with you,
like an adept sculpture,
I compile in you
moisture of flowering.
Thirst as
desert creature
and in your dry clay
I find a padlock,
with fresh stick
I dig your root dry,
to еffuse inside you
my charm with sigh
and your memory for me
not see the end.