I'm an Olympic-level hugger,
Usually average an 8.5.
But I fumbled you yesterday, a 3!
And I think that I know why:
Performance is half preparation;
The other half, presence-of-mind.
And I didn't know we'd be hugging;
Plus I'm weak at this 'Casual bind'.
See, my handicap is, I like you.
It trips me up when “Let's be
friends”
Turns to falling in your eyes over
table-tops
And taming butterflies in my head.
Now, of course—no excuses—I
fumbled,
With a weak 'One-armed chin-drape.' So
stiff!
But I promise, next time, a good
'Wrap-squeeze'
Or, if I land right, a 'Flat-palms half-lift.'
At a 7, your skin will feel warmer.
An 8 will make your muscles relax.
At a 9, you'll find yourself smiling.
And a 10 will br-ring chimes up your
back.
As an athlete, I know my own limits:
I won't promise 10's, next we meet.
But, at least,
I'll set stage for a 7.
And then train, all my heart, to
increase.
