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soul.
My flesh tells me that in one of my corners opens a crack and for her talk of vampires, bandages certainty, that little girl still in my so broken that serve as insulation for the time my mother's profile in the mirror, the eyelids of a cloud, and occasional
oil and water phantom. to be balanced smile that cut arterial no bridges or floats, without chords on the wound, no kiss
where the fence can be written and
comes from deep inside. That
catchall life takes a day even if second hand
beats are manual and eyes too light to play hide
the only ones able to make you turn up the body to the head. beats are manual and eyes too light to play hide
With an eye to dry
see a reflection in the wall, as I licked lick
afternoon
many times and I still wear the dream,
the last, that I named. -------------------------------------------------
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Poem poems belonging to
With my name on the bed bent
, won the national award
Chords (Espiel). 2010.
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