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poetry poem

havia um strangeness em seus bordos
flores dos bebês
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
uma tempestade está montando na maré
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
eu penso d esplêndido justo
acima do sul na ruptura do dia

 



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