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sex poem

ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
glooms der Lebeneichen
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
es gab eine Zeit in den ehemaligen Jahren
Einfachheit
schön
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
um Mitternacht
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums

 



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