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gothic poetry

por las mañanas nube-grises
y va tan
ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo
dígame no
ella estalló el vino feroz
las estrellas cayeron de cielo
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
no esté enojado con mí
he visto las estrellas más orgullosas

 



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