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prose poetry

dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
les poèts le disent
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
je me tiens par temps gris froid
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé

 



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