larvae that blow me
in the quiet of night life,
shaking my slow pace
where fescue in the air,
're changing the verb sweet
murdered in a tragic omen.
I come across deserts and silent
which already rested light
giving birth to an abundance of sprouts
semblance of words of love.
The quiet refuge wave
between the horrible wounds of the time,
where I bed with a weak voice
the panting of a warm pleasure.
With scourges pricked his senses
that immoral and abnormal beats
he hit a vehement desire .
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