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short love poem

s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
quand j'étais un garçon à l'université
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
elle était une beauté en jours
laissez le bel unsaid de mots

 



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