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writing poetry

gloom
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
la noche era negra y drear
splendor dulce
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
simplicidad
él habla no bien
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
tengo gusto de ella
hace usted no oír
con los ojos mansos, marrones

 



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