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gothic poetry

la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
elle était une beauté en jours
chère épouse
les ombres des bateaux
simplement parlant
l'air est comme un papillon
le corps peut confiner
par le pont grossier

 



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