as his head under the wing white
dormon
so the doves love the person you recline tired
under the covers and soft embroidered
blond head on the pillow rests
age dreams of her rose-colored
between beards and dear to your smile
a switch that will touch you face
...
passes and tells you that burns the veins that bleed
heart to you I feel
goes and says I love you
you're my sweetness my torment
white hair in a limbo between the age
cheerful smile to your dreams or not to arouse
or anything of paradise in a dream
I come to kiss his face
in my house door much the singing. I have an uncle who pays for living as an opera singer ...
you, meanwhile, recalls the serenade Mascagni. I still feel the heat more when "the heat has the taste of death," as lucky. I feel for me the creeps.
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