Monday, April 16, 2018

Revolving Door (Day 453)


She craves 
the tonic of truth,
the flavor of 
cold canteloupe 
honey-sweet and 
slippery  sliced thin as 
mountain morning air 
She yearned 
to wander through 
the labyrinth of language  
to spin in and out 
of the revolving door 
between 
the Summer of Love’s
fizzing orange 
and unripe green 
and the cobalt blue
Reagan era’s satin  sequins 
and cheap gold plate 


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Wikimedia Commons