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religious poem

ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
qui aime la pluie
un avec vous
un dieu
la lumière retirée
indéfiniment
je dédaigne mes amis davantage que vous
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate

 



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