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slam poetry

nós não éramos muitos
flores dos bebês
era uma oysterman novo alto
vinho velho a beber
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
se ele
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
sombras voadas que varrem perto
agora que eu lhe esfriei
olhe para fora em cima das estrelas, meu amor

 



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