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ciudad que no es una ciudad
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
con los ojos mansos, marrones
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
una vida en la onda del océano
esté en mí como los humores eternos
la noche era negra y drear
la fragancia vino
tormenta
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido

 



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