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thanksgiving poem

era não para esse cheiro singular
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
ao amante passionate
são você vivo?
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
nunca em toda minha vida
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
acima de e para baixo vai
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar

 



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