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lost love poem

le pré rampait
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
je vous attends
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
le long des banques
calme en tant que que deuxième été

 



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