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love poem

vinho velho a beber
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
glass-blower do tempo
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita
melancolia, azul era
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama

 



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