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erotic poetry

l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
sous la barre du guerrier
je tiens votre coeur
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
comme un homme nu je vont

 



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