aroma of fries
sticky booths and
awkward conversations.

what makes you smile?
is it the sound of
my voice or
the way i make
fun of myself?

i gazed past the darkness
into glossy blue eyes
and i knew
that your lips were meant
to be mine.

you lie
as you take my hand
and tell me i’m not
broken.

blue gatorade can’t
erase the potent taste
of cheap ***** but
it makes your lips
taste like ecstasy
transporting me to
a world where i’m
not broken, and
i’m not afraid
to love you.

i want to have
your babies.it’s true.
drunk words.
sober thoughts.
You smile or maybe cringe.

not enough love
in my world.
not enough time
with you.
but what do I know
in a liquor infused
state of mind?

your smile
is like a
thousand shots of
whiskey
drowning my anxiety.