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teen poem

irmăo, eu sou fogo
minha măe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
eu tenho que dizer good-night
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
eu estou cantando-lhe
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
existir da cisne

 



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