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grandma poem

agite
cidade que não é uma cidade
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
as sombras dos navios
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
com os olhos meek, marrons
ao longo dos bancos
esse ano
traga-me a canção macia
agora quando meus bordos viverem
não permaneça não mais

 



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