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short love poem

behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
em números mournful
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
era uma beleza nos dias
eu sou o vento que wavers
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
estourou o vinho feroz
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se

 



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