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lost love poem

serene de la tarde y brillante verdes
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
quién ama la lluvia
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
tengo gusto de ella
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
levantado de los muertos
con su pelo flaying violentamente
en y encendido
le hizo ven siempre un cocodrilo
no permanezca no más

 



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