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erotic poem

não gire sua cabeça
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
em e sobre
lá pela janela na casa velha
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
ao lado de um campo stricken
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente

 



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