A poem a day for a year #187

by Amy Turn Sharp


I have suspect thoughts about people who think cilantro tastes like soap. I also wonder how much sex the people I know have each week. Sometime mid spaghetti bolognese I will ache for a moment bigger than domestic life. There are devils among us. We all cry. I have never climbed a mountain. I want to make you throw your head back tonight and laugh like a banjo. I want you to know how big this life is, how much energy we can make.