a sketch, in the age of everything

confetti     chest hairs   peeking through
holes of your shirt,     cotton balls
            jungle bound, they hate it
and i carry my envy to a full term.  raise it
       give it shelter
for show n' tell on fridays i bake it pie.

the plea? ...simple,        a call to note
chains and handcuffs,
dripping from me, possess your name
carved with bite marks into steel.

you,  would     Not     love me        s a  n  e
i doubt i would either.  swimming
back to deserted planets,      naming
gas giants after our saints, spamming
out of orbit moons
with my 'checking-up-on-you-texts'

the efforts always felt like a prayer into a dry well
         (they still do)
but we –         well, You      choose your poison
and i make lists
 of which floors need a wash before my lover’s visit
quietly return to my life without you thinking

 it’s perhaps      98.6%  all about effort,
and in the age of everything

one good thing      could be enough.