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sex poem

lived by the river-side
blossoms of babies
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
why are the things that have no death
who will be naming the wind
do you remember
i saw him once before
with lips blood red and heart of stone
when the wind works against us in the dark
moonlight deep and tender
my true love from her pillow rose
love me at last, or if you will not
i am fevered
there is an hour of peaceful rest

 



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