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teen love poem

quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
orage
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
dites-moi
sous la barre du guerrier
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
fleurs des bébés
améliorez que le granit
ville qui n'est pas une ville
tous en dedans et tous sans moi


 



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