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best love poem

oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
solitario y solitario
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
el prado se arrastraba
como ella
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazón de la piedra
ese compańero extrańo vino en mezclar pies
apenas ahora
aquí miente una seńora más hermosa
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel

 



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