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i miss you poem

mélancolie, bleu il était
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
travails de la terre
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues
le mouvement de votre corps est comme la musique
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer

 



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