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erotic poetry

kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
ich brenne keinen Duft
süß und stark
Gedanken durch meinen Kopf
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
haben Sie gesehenes Gehen durch das Dorf
was wir jetzt tut

 



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