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poem for pastors

velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
o justo e stately empregada doméstica, cujos olhos
rosas e ouro
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
diga-me nĂŁo
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma Ă© athirst
para prestar atenção o dia inteiro à onda azul ondular e quebrar

 



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