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sad love poem

les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
je meurs
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
je suis une femme
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
je ne brûle aucun encens
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
les vieilles chansons
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous

 



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