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By Emily Olorin


Love is the storm,

That set me adrift

That set me gasping

That cut me free from my moorings and

Left me for dead.

Love is both executioner,

And enabler,

Depending on where my body lands.


I run my fingers through your hair and realise,


This is love.

The first inhalation

out of water

Damp, and gasping, and


I breathe you in.


You are as the glimpse

Of dry land in a storm.

Your skin

An island and

My touch

The slow mapping of unknown planes

As a storm rages above.


In another sea, perhaps,

Another time,

I would flounder under the weight of the waves;

Desperate, gasping,


But instead,

In your hair, your skin,

The mingling of our breath,

I have found safe harbour.