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lost love poem

sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
era uma beleza nos dias
felicidade
temos nós nenhum shame?
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
para trás, gire para trás
eu resido na montanha da tabela
a noite era preta e drear
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate

 



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