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gothic poetry

minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
as canções velhas
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
na terra silenciosa
rosas e ouro
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro

 



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