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erotic poetry

over the river, on the hill
what was it the engines said
with her hair flaying wildly
i do not pray for peace
when a deed is done for freedom
passing through huddled and ugly walls
i have cast the world
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
perhaps
beautiful
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
let me move slowly through the street

 



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