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family poetry

en números mournful
he ganado la raza
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
no se aflija que encima
dice de buenas viejas épocas
con los ojos mansos, marrones
hice un voto una vez, uno solamente
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
no sea falso

 



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