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erotic poetry

um pęssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
eu vi que vocę hunched e tiritando nas pedras
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
seu cabelo bonito
o mistério o mais escuro, o mais estranho
ao longo dos bancos
homem frio stern
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia

 



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