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black poetry

mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
splendor doux
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
une pensée gentiment solennelle
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
stand ici par mon côté
donc je ne puis pas
mais alas, rêves justes
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels

 



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