a poem a day for a year #111

by Amy Turn Sharp


I kinda hate that all the good love songs have already been written
that all the lucky bastards wrote down the collective experience of love
set it to the music
and made us all move back and forth in small cars at sad stop signs
and made us walk across rooms with fake confidence
and made us all swoon
I tried to write you a love song
but it turned out to be so sad
such a puddle across the page
a blur mix of limbs
hearts
bloody fairytales
so I just made you a mix tape
and after we made love on the cold kitchen floor
I reminded you that I am an auditory learner