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love poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
eu estou morrendo
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
lá pela janela na casa velha
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
faça exame de meus bracelets
não permaneça não mais
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
eu disse

 



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