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sorry poem

ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de

 



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