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poem

o céu
os arcos da ponte vermelha
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
deixe-me ser sad
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama

 



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