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sad love poem

et mon nom est véridique
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
je suis le vent qui hésite
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
ne tournez pas votre tête
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue

 



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