by misti rainwater-lites
My polyester puke pants sag at the crotch and my angel shirt is a few clouds
short of Heaven but somehow magical I manage to climb the dirty stalk to his
bedroom window and win him with my flavor of salsa, my giddy cowgirl brand
of Oh Hell Yeah. He claps to see me and affirms my existence with German
sausage tongue wag drool. Somewhere off camera a golden harp twangs.
This is the happy end.