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modern poetry

a mulher faltou-me muito, como vocę se chama me, chamada
melhore do que o granito
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
quem é o corredor nos céus
para trás, gire para trás
do sol nem das estrelas
uma milha atrás
qual eu desejo observar
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
diz de épocas velhas boas

 



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