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autumn poetry

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
ame-me no último, ou se você não
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
você está desobstruído
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
o que era ele os motores ditos
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
um com você
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
e pão do breaketh mais

 



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