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prose poetry

no me quemo ningún incienso
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
en un viejo compartimiento se encendió suavemente
poco parque que paso a través
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
raza alto-llevada
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted

 



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