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baby poem

je suis une femme
très bien, vous libéraux
le corps peut confiner
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
avant le saint en bronze solennel
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
je vous ai détesté

 



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