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poetry for kid

soy una mujer
en y de sí mismo
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
en su vuelo
me preguntan donde he estado
es usted vivo?
los días hypocritic
tome mis pulseras
oscuro-eyed
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír

 



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