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i love you poem

ochenta años han pasado, y más
el aire es como una mariposa
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
fui arriba y abajo de las calles
era no para ese olor singular
en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
ruédeme abajo por el prado
simplemente hablando
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
en todas las cosas no habladas de

 



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