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daughter poem

pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
une brume entraînait une réduction
un regard est mais un rayon
à l'aube, il a dit

 



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