All that I feared is now an afterthought.
You told me last November that
when love ends, life must bloom in her place.
Your father’s tattoo shop smells more like you
than your sweatshirts do.
Everyone there looked at me like they knew
I ran away to come straight to you.
I make wishes over beat up records
and the eyelashes that linger on your face.
I told you somewhere between heaven, hell, and Colorado
that these love songs are acid laced.
the lovedrunk cowgirl 