that first time in Provence

that first time in Provence

bled through

to stain my heart

with you— and wine

and crusty loaf

torn into delicious chunks

carving up the Brie

with a jack knife

on that rock

in the southern sun

so sublime—

sky sea blue

sea sky blue

reflections in sunglasses

two scarves of coral

you with wine lips licking

me, some cheesy kissing— it

bled through

to stain my heart

that first time in Provence

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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