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math poem

os céus que eram ashen e sober
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
o que era ele os motores ditos
até sua janela da câmara
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro
eu estou morrendo
filhas do tempo
desolado e solitário
material da lua
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
deixe-nos plantar
vinho velho a beber
mas alas, sonhos justos
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes

 



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