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lost love poem

une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
certains des maux que vous avez traités
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
je me suis tenu
j'ai vu la première poire
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
prenez mes bracelets

 



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