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short love poem

il est venu me prendre par la main
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
un orage monte sur la marée
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
dans le port de New York
le pré rampait
je la pense splendide juste

 



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