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erotic poem

hang no wreath
do not turn your head
in the dark and peace of my final bed
what was it the engines said
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
you are my companion
thoughts through my head
if it
there are three ways in which men take
soft as the bed in the earth
i never knew the earth had so much gold
the hypocritic days
perhaps it is no matter that you died
still thirteen years

 



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