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erotic poetry

y pan del breaketh no más
por las mañanas nube-grises
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
en la esfera
no me quemo ningún incienso
en y de sí mismo
el banquete real fue hecho
no se aflija que encima
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
escuche
quizás

 



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