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teen poem

para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
e pão do breaketh mais
a neve sussurra sobre mim
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
a fragrância veio
trançado e tecido

 



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