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religious poem

vinho velho a beber
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
eu era um goddess ere o mármore me encontrou
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
eliminar, esforçando-se vainly
você recorda

 



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