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autumn poem

entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
diga-me
como ela
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
eu gosto d
trançado e tecido
são você vivo?
em e sobre
os dias hypocritic

 



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