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child poetry

deve ir para trás, disse
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
os poetas dizem
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
eu encho este copo
diga-me não
aflija-se não para o invisível
ido antes de nós

 



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