A poem a day for a year #219

by Amy Turn Sharp


You may not remember the day I leaned over and kissed you softly
on the side of your face,
but I do.
I told you that love was everywhere in the world.
I whispered that it was essentially littering the landscape and you just had to
open up your mouth, turn your body toward it. Raise your hands.
I'm sure it sounded like a thing people say while drinking ales.
I'm sure I sounded bold.
People just just know things,
like how to handle snakes,
change tires,
make rafts,
sew quilts,
set fire to love.

I just know about love.
I see it all around you like a flame.