Crayola Crayon Time

I prefer them a bit tattered and tired. (a slow lick on a hard knife edge). A midnight she cat, sparkling like a pinwheel. The one that make you obsess, why they're one hour and-five minutes late. Why their mascara is off center. Why they have that strange strong scent. I like them a little mousy, a little off the beat. A chick that can spit with class. Kick the living MAN out of me. A fireball that contorts and concocts, attends to every want and need... (You know what I mean) In the end, what I really need is periwinkle predictability. A Crisco oiled apron, the one mamma used to don. A deep-fried lullaby in the quiet cove of a racing mind... I want to go way back into Crayola Crayon time.