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love poetry

quindi non posso
oscillato nella culla del profondo
poco cancello stato raggiunto in fine
sotto il foglio dusky dell'alloro
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
nelle mattine nube-grige
circa ha sporto querela al padrone
che cosa era esso i motori detti
ma alas, sogni giusti
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
chi ama la pioggia
i nostri momenti piacevoli volano

 



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