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Sink

I smell the ocean. I feel it cool my skin, Baking in the sun, Or from your stare. My hand parts from yours, And travels west to meet the sand That melts golden, molten, Through the cracks in my fingers. Thoughts now flow to the back of my mind... Where they will crash onto hot rocks, And sizzle, steam away.
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Written by
kirsten-martin
Published
May 29, 2012
Lines·Words
13·60
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