All there ever is

I was with

seven women in

a week

and I thought,

man I must be something

special,

but I wasn’t

and they weren’t either –

laying there

like bloated animals

too slow to move

after having their fill

while looking at vultures’ legs

circling in the cove ceiling

or when they were

cats cooing cats,

scratching, purring,

and mustering belief

in the importance of themselves

through something else –

because of days like today

when we crawl

into dank places

with more dirt inside

than out

and a rain that

drips from the counters

with a steadiness

that can drown a crowd

into slipping together

for oxygen

and finding heat

in flabby tooshes that

are good to prop up

against in the winter,

or just for a night,

we’re all we have,

all there ever is, baby.