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love poems

pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
je vous ai détesté
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
le pré rampait
beaux, tragical visages
leurs beaux cheveux
je sais pas où
ceux-ci soient
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé

 



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