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lost love poem

na esfera
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
os dias melancólicos vieram
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
e pão do breaketh mais
o ar é como uma borboleta
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
fora do mar sparkling
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
macia agora a luz do dia
nós que estiveram
cidade que não é uma cidade
teria mesmo seu gracejo
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso

 



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