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vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
le soleil est vers le haut
c'est l'arsenal
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
les chansons antiques
j'ai vu la première poire
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question

 



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