they write that love is meant to be golden stringed harps
sweet molasses coating your throat
ripe peaches and candy floss
floating around the metaphors of your mind.
but i know it to be red sky in the morning
thunder claps with your toes in the water
and kneeling on sand.
i think of this love and i cry.
i cry for the girls who taste like me
who see the world through rose tinted glasses
even when the world has told them they sky is grey
and the stars are just painted on.
i cry for the girls who are phoenixes among feathers,
who still write about life the way they teach you
to write about love
