He took a sip,
pretending it was
the sky swirling
inside his frosted glass,
the sky that curled and
folded in upon itself
trailing a shadowed veil
across the slate-dark sea,
when hand-in-hand they
traced the wine-stain
crescent of a bay from bluff
to point, pausing to dance
with foam-tipped tickling
waves, laughing at their
good luck to chance
on such a storm
on such a day.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere
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