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in jean, the strong
and the weak are
perfectly matched somehow.
she hums with the polarity,
she chants and responds to herself,
and only i can hear.

inside me a dozen men
all at cross purposes
dance to impress her
and they partly succeed.

they mess themselves one after another,
first on their damp warm bodies
then their rich fresh hearts,
almost missing things she shows them - 
movements, poses, sincere gestures
that should explode slo-mo in their chests,
and in my chest.

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