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sad love poem

flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
todos dentro y todos sin mĂ­
amé a mujer
pero alas, sueños justos
una pluma del acero
él vino tomarme por la mano
lleno esta taza
y todavĂ­a caminaron encendido
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
era no para ese olor singular

 



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