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slam poetry

häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
entlang den Bänken
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling

 



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