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broken heart poem

talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
quando eu era um menino na faculdade
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
diga-me não
acima de e para baixo vai
na meia-noite
seu cabelo bonito
era uma oysterman novo alto
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre

 



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