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love poems

velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
me preguntan donde he estado
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
hay uno que ese i amó una vez tanto
podríamos sino saber
tengo gusto de ella
lleno esta taza
si era muy seguro
con su pelo flaying violentamente
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
éstos sean
para la verdad, para el amor

 



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