Trail Her Trash

I call her my love, my angel, my Kansas City star,

she tells me she can’t get dressed today,

her crown broke then she changes her dress twice

to get that perfect twirl when spinning around

hair in wispy pig tails, 

insisting on my violet perfume 

to make her just perfectly ready.

She sits on my lap and she knows,

today she goes back home,

she holds her locket with my picture

in the silver hollow hue,

and says whenever I open this

you are telling me that you love me,

and then she cries when I suggest clasping the heart,

 I don’t want you to stop loving me.