i want to be your woman.
not your girl, your sister, or your friend
a woman.
who can breathe words that burn like placing your hand on a hot stove
yet can also bring the utmost relief with just a press of the lips.

i want to be your woman, baby
in blue jeans and a white tee
(the uniform of my femininity, with a coffee stain on the sleeve)

most of all, i want to take the worlds that bite down on your shoulders
look into them, understand them, and therefore, understand you.
then i'll toss them into the dishwasher.
i'll take them out when the cycle ends and place the polished worlds upon our dresser
so we can see just how nice it is that we have each other in this one.

so whenever you get loud and stomp around or i start swearing and crying, all we have to do is look and see.

i'm lucky to be your woman, and you're lucky to have me.