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erotic poem

paredes e enorme elevados
antes do saint de bronze solemn
para trás, gire para trás
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
traga-me a canção macia
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu estou morrendo
todo meu amor para meu doce
agite
pela costa, pelo mar
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso

 



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