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poetry poem

il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
le parfum est venu
il y a une heure du repos paisible
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
le maître des destins humains suis moi
y a il quiconque là
nous nous étendons
je vois tous les esprits humains
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou

 



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