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  • Writer: Yaira Ebanks
    Yaira Ebanks
  • Jun 20
  • 1 min read

He said I was like the sand,

never the same.


Just once, I’d like to run

through his hands.


To finally understand,

to see, to feel, to get lost

in his command.


To massage all of me

into the palm of his hand,


before the weathering and erosion

of all that I am.


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