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love poems

eu não queimo nenhum incense
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
deve ir para trás, disse
veja, eles retornam
três anos há hoje
sadly falando
macio como a cama na terra
esse ano
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu

 



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