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romantic love poems

a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
muito bem, vocę liberais
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
duas fileiras dos repolhos
tempestade
no alvorecer, disse
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas

 



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