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erotic poem

juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
je meurs
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
splendor doux
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
la lumière retirée

 



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