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erotic poem

l'aube était vert pomme
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
chère épouse
aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
je me tiens par temps gris froid

 



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