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love poem

não seja falso
acima dos prados ricos com milho
felicidade
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
têm você andar visto através da vila
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
levantou-se e o âmbar era o por do sol no rio
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo

 



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