My home smells like sour and sweat,
post-partum regret
a quarter century flipped
for the malmanager's bet.

Prayers buried in letters,
asking for days that're better
but getting by on mediocre
life that doesn't hurt, but doesn't smile neither
mama cries when she don't understand my need for either

scrawling words when I'm feeling it
days and nights when we're spillin it
saliva and laundry parties;
no shame or judgement -- beauty's a light switch away
but when I get pried open for love I'm not sure what to say

my tongue turns to a lint trap
issint beginnings, then herald the touch
tenative-- (IT'S TOO MUCH IT'S TOO MUCH IT'S TOO FUCKING MUCH)
wizened in the years of shaping ice into fire
lenses painted prismatic
I've unburied you with spades of ayre
but why're you so far when I touch you so close
for all that I've won you
won't you please just stay
leave me stitches to remember that it happened this way

and baby, do you believe in fate?
Do you believe in St Paper waiting on at the gate
or do you make  your own like St. Jude
dying in a river in silver
slivers of fervor
lost in the roiling ocean of his greatest friend
a lockbox of secrets

baby just kiss me once like you used to
like the world's coming to an end.