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
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