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erotic poem

desolato e solo
sono il vento che esita
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
chi chiamerà il vento
e pane del breaketh non di più
conosco che cosa state andando dire
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
metà di piaceri e palazzi benchè possiamo vagare
così caduto
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine

 



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