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mom poem

nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras
o ar é como uma borboleta
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade

 



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