“It’s like the shit women notice all the time. Women are into rolled-up sleeves and forearms and veins and eyebrows, and I feel like men are just, like… boobs. Y’all are much simpler,” says Kacey. “Your wrist / and I choke in lavender,” I recite part of his final couplet. “Your speaker hasn’t even touched the object of his desire, and yet he’s completely overwhelmed by, like, her fucking wrist.”
