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May 2012
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.
Kirsten Martin
Written by
Kirsten Martin
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