"theres a gameplan in getting you past patrons fajitas"
her words sneak out past red lips in a low purr
and tickle her septum
bright margaritas as red as her cowboy boots
i stare at the flourescent sludge with hatred and appreciation i grant prize fighters
how did you get me this fucked up, little guy?
i'm talking about fathers and ex boyfriends
to a rowdy cowboy stomping on eels
fixing my wagon
and eating the paper right off the tortilla
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