I want the butterfly brigade to grant me a year with no stomach problems. I want to affix the word un-blame in the dictionary so I can screw up your spell check and so I can call him without shaking. I want a piano that will not warp outdoors when the rain demands slow dancing. I want to lick my hands after I touch someone that has just become razzle dazzled. I want your record collection in my throat, and my thumb in the electric ass of the all night jukebox. I want the light in your attic to shine down to where the sidewalk ends. I want you to feel like a disco ball of fish hooks so you can hang on my words and I can spin in your small miracles of light. I want your silver muscles cut into a quilt. Let me sleep under your strength. I want to sing this into all tail pipes until I’m exhausted. I want to smell everything. I want to remember that the sky is so gorgeously large, I feel stranded beneath it. When I gasp, I only want to gasp for more.