My lover played strip-tease with life and danced on the edge of the world.

She drove a big old rusted Lincoln with suicide doors, a sewing machine in the back and a light bulb that looked like an alligator egg was mounted up front of the hood. 

She always had sawdust in her hair, and her dress had two holes in the back that seemed to sprout roses from the essence of her sinister snickers.

Her wings were covered with feathers and electrical tape, and when she got good and drunk she would sing about Chicago--where the wind is strong and folks mind their own business.

She had at least a hundred old baseballs that she'd taken from kids, and she collected bones of all kinds.

She lived in a trailer under a bridge, and she made her own whiskey and gave cigarettes to kids.

She'd been struck by lightening seven or eight times, and hated the mention of rain.

She made up her own language and she wore rubber boots, and she could fix anything with string.

Her lips were like cherries, and she was stronger than any man.

She smelled like gasoline and root beer foam.

She put mud on a bee sting I got at the creek, 

And she gave me my very first kiss.