The girl on the swing soars and falls,
catches late, flies over the crowd.
All the women want to be her,
and all the men to be with her.
Steel rope arms cross and then unfold,
point apple hard breasts to the lights,
and all the men want to be with her.
All the women want to be her.
She stares past your shoulder, in your arms,
hears only the sigh of the crowd.
All the women want to be her,
and all the men want to be with her.
Angel eyes smile a dream of flight
never shared: she falls alone.
All the men want to be with her,
and all the women want to be her.