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sexta-feira, 26 de outubro de 2012

A haunting charm







                                                 a single awe 
from her
turns wolves into sheeps
scarlet nights 
of requests
in a profane sleep.

she plays the lyres
like a haunting charm,
a crescent moon
in the yearning days

a flaming lark of delusions
as we walk 
into the flickering lights,
glancing
all the naked bodies 
dancing

it's a daring poetry
that smiled
a murderer smile.

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