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romantic love poems

dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
qui appellera le vent
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
je suis le vent qui hésite

 



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