by Jenny Potter

Lips bruised by the cool taste of your
Mouth still clinging to my tongue.
College steps,
Cool stone,
Feelings of ineptitude.
A physical catharsis:
Tracing the shapes of words but
Releasing only the sounds
Of a metronomic breath.
The kiss of the mist
Frustration at the expectation of
Social conformism.
Steel steps slicked with frost,
Figurative monopoly on my thoughts.