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romantic poetry

un stylo d'acier
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
le pré rampait
peu de parc que je traverse
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
je dois dire bonne nuit
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant lĂ 
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir

 



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