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erotic poetry

when the hours of day are numbered
wheel me down by the meadow
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
which keeps
we break the glass whose sacred wine
good woman
simplicity
those black eyes i once so praised
the fragrance came
better than granite
i reside at table mountain
i have cast the world
love me at last, or if you will not
a mist was driving down

 



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