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best love poem

você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
um pensamento doce solemn
sob a lua da colheita
conseqüentemente eu não posso
eu era um goddess ere o mármore me encontrou
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor

 



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