Added: 6 months ago
From: edgarelba
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  • Una gota de sangre baila en el precipicio

    Lo tangible es la fruición

    Un grito predecible.

    Hundidos en camas de flores ancestrales

    Al verle el alma a dios lloramos, sufrimos,

    Un estado catatónico absoluto,

    Y el manjar llega a nuestra lengua blanca

    Y la férvida leche nos adormece el corazón

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