(for two voices)
It’s just a thing.
Just a thing.
We did the research.
We measured it.
Don’t bother to write, to sing.
It’s just a thing.
But
when we held each other
naked to the waist
the skin over our hearts
pressed close—
That’s just pheromones,
chemicals,
your
oxytocin
receptors
firing.
We did the research.
We measured it.
It’s just a thing.
But
when we held each other
naked to the waist
the skin over our hearts
pressed close—
Chemical messages,
firing of neurons.
We did the research.
We measured it.
It’s just a thing.
One’s as good as another
when you need release.
They’re all the same—
a nuisance, really,
disruptive to your work,
your contribution to the economy.
Go out with your friends,
spend your money.
You’ll be fine.
You’ll function smoothly.
You’ll be able to play.
It’s just a thing.
Just chemicals, just neurons.
Don’t bother to write, to sing.
If it’s really a problem
you can take this pill.
But when we held each other
naked to the waist
the skin over our hearts
pressed close
I felt…
That skin
is a sacrament. That body—
a sacrament.
Did I desecrate it
with my grabbing hands,
the hands of a thing,
my animal lust,
the lust of a thing
that’s been told
all its life
that it’s just a thing?
Did I desecrate,
or was that
worship?
I don’t know.
But my neurons played
a transcendent music
and even if that
was just a thing
I will give it the lyrics
it deserves.