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sad love poem

peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
quelques jours plus venteux
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
peu de parc que je traverse
j'ai gagné la course
passé persistant de thou
travails de la terre
effrayé pas plus, je dis
dans le port de New York
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs

 



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