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son poem

l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
chi ama la pioggia
quale si conservare
dolce e forte
nei numeri mournful
prenda i miei bracelets
rinnovi la visione di piacere
scuro-eyed
aranci di coglitura nubian blu-neri
parla non bene
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
con il tramonto

 



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