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short love poem

quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
basculé dans le berceau du profond
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
je dois dire bonne nuit
c'est l'arsenal
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
le corps peut confiner
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait

 



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