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teen poetry

je vous attends
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
peut-être
qui aime la pluie
dans le port de New York
la musique i entendu avec vous était plus que la musique
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
dernier minuit

 



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