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math poem

non giri la vostra testa
dal mare scintillante
nel porto di nuovo York
il mio dispiacere, quando qui con me
calma come che seconda estate
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
noi che si sono levati in piedi
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
quando, pieno di amore caldo e desideroso
ma alas, sogni giusti
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi

 



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