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suicide poem

em todas as coisas não faladas de
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
sob a lua da colheita
têm você não ouvido
eu sei não onde
duas fileiras dos repolhos
rosas e ouro
eu estive
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous

 



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