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sex poem

Bruder, bin ich Feuer
durch die rude Brücke
als ich am Sonnenuntergang zurückkam
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
wenn ich gekonnt hatte, Enge ein Gefängnis Liebe ist

 



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