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best friend poem

e assim vai
sob a lua da colheita
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
ame-me no último, ou se você não
levantado dos mortos
nós não éramos muitos
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro
para prestar atenção o dia inteiro à onda azul ondular e quebrar
o doce com fern e levantou-se
ainda treze anos
eu sei não onde
esteja em mim como os modos eternal

 



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