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angel poem

diz de épocas velhas boas
e assim vai
duas fileiras dos repolhos
o ar é como uma borboleta
levantado dos mortos
são você acordado?
esplêndido e terrível seu amor
até sua janela da câmara
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
mulher boa
todos tragam os anos
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso

 



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