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love poems

velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
perguntam-me onde eu estive
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
poderíamos nós mas para saber
eu gosto d
eu encho este copo
se eu for muito certo
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
estes sejam
para a verdade, para o amor

 



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