My wrists are jealous, their decor long since dulled and faded,
but my hips are given new decor, lovely, fresh, and vibrant decor.
My hips are hidden, secret, secret. My wrists are exposed, and
they are jealous, jealous. The more hidden the decor must be,
the more jealousy conjurs. Jealousy, jealously.
Too bad the whole world can’t see.