I'm the ballerina in the open air,
the broken neck at the bottom of the stair;
I want to kiss your breast,
be your baby and
Best In Show,
I want to know what it means to
be the coffee on your lips
and the color of the tile beneath your toes.
I want to step out on the stage
like a rose wreath around the moon,
I want us to slide on down to Austin
by train, in a storm,
where you'll call me Cat Mama Honey,
check us in, and lock the door.