yeah the muscles in your iris are more satisfying
than the galaxies in the big man's great mason jars,
yeah your hands hold me just perfect, all fingertips and no nails,
yeah our parallel brains carry on their synchronized drum,
the same words stumbling out at the same time from two faces.
but I really can't see past this great wall that is your closed mind,
trying to sculpt me into a myth, an urban legend.
so here I am, certainly flawed, but it's how I will stay.
you can open your galaxies or turn and walk away,
I'm just not going to turn into a perfect stone
when the light fills the curtains anymore.