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Carmine lipstick roses,

are born on the

lover's skin.



Let's suppose God

dreamt about a man

      (or a monster-

and that was me.




Dead people of

a lenguage go on

speaking plainly.

Masats & the art of,





I send postcards

of every reincarnation

to my mother.



A red spinning top,

love, I am, dancing

on your travel.

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