The weekend in quatrains, part 2

In the low heat of morning, I never boiled
Releasing the sludge that coated my skin
In a slow rising steam, the days I had toiled
Shimmered off, exposing the shine within.

Live wires bared, my smile jumped and arced
My body went taut at the strength of the current
Those who touched me were shocked from the spark
And kept their distance, or again be burnt.

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Sign says yes, sign says no
Who the hell knows which is which?
Not the loser in sandals and kimono.
Lance and Lancette? Shut up, bitch.

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