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son poem

ich brenne keinen Duft
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
erklären Sie mir
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
ich halte Ihr Herz
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
die Dichter sagen
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens

 



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