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narrative poetry

el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
los pasillos de mármol resounding largos
por las mañanas nube-grises
hermano, soy fuego
mire detrás con los ojos longing y sepa que seguiré

 



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