.Ton cÅur pend au-dessus de ma tête. Toi l'amant, il ne reste qu'une miette de ta peau douce presque adolescente. La mouche tournoie, elle n'est plus patiente. Poussière chaude veut me faire tousser. Mes mains ne cessent plus de penser. Mes yeux ne veulent plus baver. Juste que c'est pas moi qui l.
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