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mom poem

perchè così triste mio bello?
l'alba era verde mela
forse
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
non brucio incenso
siete svegli?
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine
stuff della luna
ho visto le stelle più fiere
amo rubare per un po'via
andato prima di noi
vecchio vino da bere

 



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