hurricane season

his hands make an island of me
and my trees sway in his breaths
my waters churn in hurricane season 
he is hurricane season
he is at one hundred every time I look 
he is at ten thousand every time I look away
the wind is blowing blowing
and I am heat and salt and searing drops
I am the hurricane
and he is hurricane season

Reviews

[Relic]

Not bad at all. A little bit rough but the message is clear. Nice poem.