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New Games
poetry [ ]

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by [ivs ]

2004-09-29  |     | 



She used to put the both glasses
on the little round table
and wait for someone to come.
You was the one,
always late.
Experiencing her force
and fighting the hungry seconds
and sorrow,
she always hoped
that love
would be a splendid
tomorrow.
Actually flowers were smiling
except their worry about these games
of transparence.
Glass feelings,
too much space
and dust
and resumption

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