Ben:
[Reading his poem to Sarah]
You are the harvest, God's water on wheat. Birds fly for you, sing for you. Each wing a beat of my heart for you. Felt for you, my clay feet. I donot sing for you, donot fly for you. I'm not water, I'm not wheat. I would be dove, I would be hawk. Your milky breasts, my strange meat.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:28
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