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erotic poetry

sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
dites-moi pas
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
laissez-moi être triste
c'est le bateau de la perle
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue

 



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