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suicide poem

je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
le mouvement de votre corps est comme la musique
je tiens votre coeur
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
je suis une femme
élever, comme vent a soufflé
vieux vin à boire
clair de lune profond et tendre
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate

 



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