pequin

Red fire boiling skin, unlocking the bitterness deep within, Screeching, breeching Battling way, Storm’s a’comin That’s what they say.

surfacing

Breezy day in the sun, Waves lapping on the sand; It’s eighty-eight degrees and beautiful. Post-card greetings, From the land of far-far-away, Growing closer With each daily rotation.

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