You, your clutches, your eyes that say you’d rather be loving me at home than sitting in an auditorium

And I wish I was your telephone, just because I know right now it’s touching your cheekbone.

And I would have asked you to be my partner at the Contra dance in your yellow dress

Even lacking thoughts that things might progress in a sexy way at the Crystal Palace

Boy, to have had an expectation would have been a fallacy

And your pulled-back hair, your nose ring and your scar,

and the same tender willingness displayed at the farm

where you showed me you know more than you let on,

passing fields of poison oak at dawn.

And the more I learn, the less I feel I know

Scientific observation, and language and imagination

Are all ways of making love

Are all ways of showing us we’ve got enough

I remember thinking your bedroom was cool before I ever saw you naked in it

(Ooh we’re gettin dirty now)

And I would have liked your house, had I never cooked a dinner in it

(Stir-fry and polenta uh-huh)

And I would put one of my band’s fliers on your bike if I saw it (”Bramble LIVE!”) sitting comfortably

outside the library, eating a strawberry is never really as sweet as that first morning

And your taut skin, your wordless kiss in response to my inquiry, though I didn’t know your boundary

taught me you dare to breathe the air you don’t see

You breathe deeply.

And your pulled-back hair, your nose ring and your scar,

and the same tender willingness portrayed in your arms that I can’t always see because it’s hiding under your sleeves,

up your sleeves sweetie

And the more I learn, the less I feel I know,

And scientific observation, and language and imagination

are all ways of showing us we’ve got enough,

are all ways of making love.