Cos he's always been my chicago,
the place where all the midwest girls feel new.

I've traveled his trails before,
and taken my shoes off somewhere along
his way. And in the heat of all his lakeside
runoff days, I've pulled my shirt above my
head, and bunched up my jeans a bit.
He's got these entrancing ideas of
bigger places, for their minds to wander,
far out beyond the gutters
and shingles of cookie-cutter homes.

When we're with him the past is gone,
floating away on a skyscraper,
on new trails,
on birthmarks.