the lovedrunk cowgirl

you tangle your fingers in the cobwebs 

that shine above my spinning head 

and for a moment you think about weaving some of your own.

I can see it in your eyes-

the way you love to leave 

(fingerprints on my neck 

and on my suntanned skin).

you swallow and sell my story 

like the pills you stole from that party.

I am the final resting place 

for the secrets you bury in warm bodies.