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sex poem

als weiße Kerze
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
Standplatz hier durch meine Seite
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt

 



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