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mom poem

macia agora a luz do dia
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
se ele
o ar Ă© como uma borboleta
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
ao longo de um river-side
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate

 



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