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sex poem

não gire sua cabeça
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
vivido pelo river-side
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
eu estou morrendo
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
material da lua
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
eu sou fevered
em seus regimentals ásperos
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
assim perdido
deus

 



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