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Feb 2014
his hands make an island of me
and my trees sway in his breaths
my waters churn in hurricane season
he is hurricane season
he is at one hundred every time I look
he is at ten thousand every time I look away
the wind is blowing blowing
and I am heat and salt and searing drops
I am the hurricane
and he is hurricane season
laine
Written by
laine
515
 
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