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Eres la joya que arde en mi pecho,
mi culto prohibido, mi único lecho.
No eres del montón, eres tormenta y reliquia,
la herida que sangra y a la vez me bendicia.
Mas si traicionas el juramento sellado,
si tu sombra hiere lo que he venerado,
no habrá caricias, ni rosas calladas,
serán dagas feroces, promesas clavadas.
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