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teen poem

mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
ceux-ci soient
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé

 



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