Mechanics

There's going to be a lot more of those queerosexual couples
Sprouting up and around now that this support group has started
A woman with windblown hair, desperately in need of some make-up
Neck strangled with a scarf the color of honey mustard
Says in a loud voice

Okay no, she doesn't say queerosexual; to be fair
She's not that far back in the dark ages
But nevertheless he feels the hairs on the back of his
And the neck of every other gay girl and boy
Stand up and prickle

I don't know what they think they're going to accomplish
It's just wrong, doggoneit, wrong is what it is
Not natural, I mean
The parts just don't fit together

This last part spoken in hushed tones
Like the most scandalous of divulgences

But hearts- he wonders-
Do hearts have genders?

If my heart fits with your heart
Shouldn't we consider ourselves lucky that we've found
The puzzle piece

Not wasting our lives throwing out the match because some
Cantankerous old mechanic claims
The parts don't fit together.

Maybe someday she'll know what it's like
To feel a heart beat in synch next to hers
On a boat, in a lake, with the taste of rum on her lips
The sweetness of wine in her head
And she will forget about parts
Altogether