Ella Holcombe |
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WAIHEKE
for days we walk the island broken tennis rackets, tent poles strange murmurs in the bushes today is night without the darkness rain falls like a whisper we watch a grey mass of cloud shift across the sky and smoke damp cigarettes, hold hands beneath trees the fish and chip lady sings ‘love me tender’ over the splutter of fat my shoes fill with sand, we fall asleep on the beach in the morning we swim the bluest, coldest sea
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