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

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