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short poem

dentro de minha mão eu prendo
era não para esse cheiro singular
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
na obscuridade e na paz de minha cama final
olhar além
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
escute

 



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