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kid poem

usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
caras hermosas, tragical
era muchas y mucho hace un año
su pelo hermoso
dos filas de coles
en y de sí mismo
tome mis pulseras
ruédeme abajo por el prado
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
está a menudo no tan?

 



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