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An Elegy for Summer

This is euphoria: the art of painstakingly purging blistered and withered melanin. This is apocalypse: the wait, waiting and waiting for the tear of vapours, of sweat and oil. Summer is judgement season, death and resurrection.

Tides

Its rhythm,
a reminder of life's ebb and flow,
each passing moment,
high and low,
both constant and fleeting.

As the moon pulls the water,
we are drawn and released,
tethered to the vastness,
finding our place
in the symphony
of rolling waves.

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