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■ The oak
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This season is long gone
in a white November settled under a first kiss shiver we would let the threads of snow caress us they would inoculate eternity inside us of a time that was so many other times that is to come no more my hands sprouted on your breasts drop of an instant in the tear then in the tear now your hair smelled like white naked season I would get lost in it praying to the skies to stay like this forever lost in a time that was so many other times that is to come no more
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