“I caught myself staring at your arm today for 15 minutes. I’m not sure if I’m beginning to like you so all your basic qualities are appreciating, or it’s really just your arm. I want it. I want it to hold. I want it to squeeze. I really want it in good light, nice open space, so I can take a good look; Sit quietly and watch the blood pump in and out and what have you done? Tell me what you’re lifting (now I’m gonna have to watch you open things, close things, scoop up, wring out, throw away, write down, wriggle off and can’t you see I’m already kind of busy with your arm?) Just tell me. Give me the secret, the recipe, the pictures; Draw your arm, with the arm that I like. I’m leaving. Gone. I’m on a beach, there’s a jet ski, a child, a pail of water, the surf, the sand, my towel, my toes, my nose, and where the fuck are you?! cause I’m wasting my time thinking about how relaxed I am when I’d rather be stressing about you.