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short love poem

sopra loro tutte, osservando giù
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
mescolisi
chi è il corridore nei cieli
ad alcuno i dii grassi
è spesso non così?
ottanta anni hanno passato e più
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
abbiamo nessuno shame?

 



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