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erotic poetry

cuando las horas del día se numeran
ruédeme abajo por el prado
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
cuál guarda
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
buena mujer
simplicidad
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan
la fragancia vino
mejore que el granito
resido en la montaña de la tabla
he echado el mundo
ámeme en el último, o si usted no
una niebla conducía abajo

 



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