counting with twenty fingers

I tried to find heaven

by climbing up a mountain

but I only found a place

where trees don’t grow

and people don’t either

*

Is everyone just sex

embodied in a tie

of you and I

when we whelp

and find beauty in the ugly

things we do with our fingers

which include this poem

when unwashed and unknown

and understood by the melting

of your breasts onto my body

either from the booze or the bustle

of wet-licked hands, strewn hair, and

starting over again and again and again

where we wonder

is everyone just sex

embodied in a tie

of you and I?

*

When did I become

so out of date

when I was only born

yesterday

and by tomorrow

I’m gone