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erotic poem

our pleasant moments fly
some one complained to the master
storm
doubtless i remember still
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
in and of itself
she knows a cheap release
renew the vision of delight
like eagles on up high
why are the things that have no death
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
the little white prayers
two rows of cabbages
the long resounding marble corridors

 



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