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short love poem

la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
in settembre
la terra mantiene certo andare di vibrazione
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
vado il mio senso complacently
sentite la pioggia?
parla non bene


 



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