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un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
he oído que cierta princesa
y pan del breaketh no más
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
la señora, su corazón ha dado vuelta al polvo
fuera del mar chispeante
dije
revuelva
éste es el arsenal
había un strangeness en sus labios
usted dice que usted me ama
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana

 



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