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romantic love poem

un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
le parfum est venu
ville qui n'est pas une ville
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
et pain de breaketh pas plus

 



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