We are uncoiling
Uncoupling
Yet our serpentine fingers linger
Like tender afterthoughts
Kissing hysterical women
We are them they are us
You finish it now
You soften the punch
Those muscles drift like tenderness
We are leathery skin and fingers that bend slowly
Our ancient articulations arthritic
Retrofitted in the darkness of daylight
In the heat of the night
We fight our urge to self destruct
Compulsive luck is not the worst of our faults
Such as being short-circuited in the dark