the lovedrunk cowgirl

I joke about insanity at a table set for two.

I kneel to pray in crowded rooms.

You asked me last if I was happy 

and my teeth bled as I lied to you.

How could I tell you that I’ve learned to swallow ash

because some nights it tastes like sugar?

How could I admit that I’m sick from a disease that love will never be immune to?

I pour strawberry wine over the months

that wasted me

while I got sober from you.

Through my silence and my hunger,

you’re hellbent on honor.

If memory could feed me,

I’d lick dust off the bed to stop grieving the smell of sandalwood on a scared woman’s daughter.