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mom poem

morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
se esso
l'aria è come una farfalla
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
le tonalità della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
lungo una riva del fiume
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro

 



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