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

We Did It All Wrong (Day 184)

We did it all wrong,

but we didn't mean to.

You, shoes squealing 

sharply, sliding, 

reaching, saving

the day, captured 

in black and white

like a song. 

Later, the whiteness 
of my arms against 
the darkness of 

your skin astonished me

and you—the moon 

turned us a glowing 

twilight shade of blue. 

We danced, sweet 

and slow, and you left 

your ring on my table,

so I’d think of you, 

and I did, 

and I do, you see? 

But that was all then, 

and we did it 
all wrong, didn’t we?

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Note: I was unable to figure out to whom this lovely image should be attributed. Please leave me a comment if you know.