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sex poem

no dé vuelta a su cabeza
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
cuando era adaptó Londres
vivido por la orilla
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
estoy muriendo
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
materia de la luna
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
soy fevered
en sus regimentals desiguales
hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
tan perdido
dios

 



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