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poem

o que mim lhe devem
há qualquer um lá
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras
um com você
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
e meu nome é truthful
em setembro
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
balançado no berço do profundo
os dias hypocritic

 



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