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erotic poem

eu encho este copo
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
duas fileiras dos repolhos
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
material da lua
fora do mar sparkling
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
esta é a canção da juventude
escute
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
através do peito aching da terra larga

 



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