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mom poem

o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
não gire sua cabeça
pela ponte rude
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
caído assim

 



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