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best friend poem

j'ai vu la première poire
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
je me suis tenu
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
je meurs
voyez, ils retournent
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
je suis dans l'amour avec les endroits prévoyants élevés
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids

 



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