Author Information
Ostrich
I bury my head
in the sand of your shoulder
and cry.
the kind of cry a broken girl
cries over a broken boy
who has more good than bad
in his lungs.
love isn't hard
bitter
cold and
dead.
love isn't
pain
suffering
tears and anger.
love is
easy
sweet.
a Sunday supper that
dances in the kitchen and
calls me by my name.
love of mine, you say.
sweet love of mine.
