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friendship poem

abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
e pão do breaketh mais
este é o arsenal
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
eu soube o silêncio das estrelas e do mar
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
como um homem despido mim vai
o que mim lhe devem

 



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