| Open-Ended Jam Session The gimme-gimme does the two step On the ridges of my spine Cocktease notions pull up at my ankles Retract spontaneity I amaze myself with the way My eyes can magnetize the slightest Quiver of a lip The pieced tempo of a confused breath Make them out to be tokens of prosperity I deny myself with the way my body aches for sweat But my mind begs for stillness I should be split Stewed Sorted So that all my parts make sense So no one gets confused and mutters, �I think I love you,� at just the wrong moment When I�d prefer impersonal detachment Rather than comfortable safety But I take your hand and we tromp all over Beads of simplicity with our bare feet Toes kissing at the ground |