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daughter poem

je ne brûle aucun encens
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
à travers He va
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
je suis fevered
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
un mille derrière
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé

 



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