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erotic poem

una tormenta está montando en la marea
dos filas de coles
lleno esta taza
aquí cae ninguna luz
hay una hora del resto pacífico
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
paredes y enorme altos
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
estoy en amor con los altos lugares far-seeing
quizás
caras hermosas, tragical
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata

 



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