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Cantilena
poetry [ ]
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by Călin Sămărghițan [cailean ]
2011-06-03
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Once I killed a woman.
It was in Madrid and I was in love with her.
You know, her face was made of stone
her hair was made of stone
her heart was made of stone, so I couldn't
steal her heart.
When the night is too long
the morning disappears.
I have stolen only her wings.
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