Heavy air hovers between us,
the stink of oozing crevasses,
sticky wet-pressed skin
and the white smear of semen
stings us as we try to move.
Friction-melded we rest, flaccid
flesh bound in dry crusted cum,
sweat mingling, soaking sheets,
saturating fabric in a pervading stench.
Knowing nothing else, we breathe.
Ancient memories of making love
now fitfully haunt our fat fucks
where fleshy abundance quivers,
yet smothers the burrowing tongue
searching our bitter discharges.
We choke on the bile and swallow
as slack-bodied libidos recede,
expelled to puddle on aching thighs,
as now liquid lust reeks of surrender
and we succumb in the visceral muck.