I’m twenty-eight years old
bound between minutes and miles.
she’s a few years older
holding the universe together
between glasses of tequila
and her half-drawn smile.
we’re drunk in her favorite city-
she’s falls up the stairs
and I bleed from my knees.
she licks her thumb and presses it
over the torn-up part of me.
I promise myself to stay clumsy
if I can wear her hand
like a bandage on my thighs.
I promise myself to stay dizzied
by the stories she hides
behind golden eyes.
the lovedrunk cowgirl 