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gothic poetry

dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
éliminer, luttant vainly
désolé et seul
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée

 



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