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gothic poetry

era não para esse cheiro singular
podem falar do amor em uma casa de campo
estes sejam
rosas e ouro
não gire sua cabeça
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma é athirst
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
desolado e solitário
ruídos que strive rasgar
era uma beleza nos dias
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
é frequentemente não assim?
macia weeping

 



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