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erotic poem

pour la vérité, pour l'amour
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
en ce moment
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
doux comme lit dans la terre
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies

 



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