a poem a day for a year # 145

by Amy Turn Sharp


as the crow flies
there is not real space between us
still it takes all day to find each other's arms
to put our foreheads together
to eat from the same plate
to let go of the rubbish
the leftovers
of a very bad day 
to just hold each other
and whisper
the amends
the small words 
and sounds
the secret
sorrow of lovers 
that makes you swear 
to never waste 
another day