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suicide poetry

je l'aime
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
vieux vin à boire
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
avec les yeux doux et bruns
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas

 



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