Laurie Kolp, 10/12

The Aftertaste of Us

Walls, the color of your
eyes enveloped me that
lively summer day when I
sprang from your rein, ran
the other way, a caged cougar
free at last. The cracked soil
was the color of your hair,
between my toes, a hindrance
until heat- heavier than your
fisted hands- became my fuel,
the wind my breath. I
swept through the champagne
field away from your vindictive
voice calling out to me
as I swallowed the bitter
aftertaste of us.
Laurie Kolp’s links and blogs can be found here: 

Promote. Poetry.
FacebookTwitterGoogle+PinterestBlogger PostTumblrGoogle GmailLineYahoo MailRediff MyPageKindle ItGoogle BookmarksShare