Beer:
All gone.
10 bottles each.

Twenty in all.
Crowding my desk.

White foam
covers the last film of beer,
and looks like the top of ****
in a toilet gone sour,

but at bottom of the bottles.

Stomachs:
There are no shirts on our stomachs and they heave and sweat.

Arms:
One Underneath her back, hers on top of my chest,
fingers splayed like peacock's feathers
and cold as freeze-dried hot-dogs
dripping thawing oil on concrete.

Legs:
Hers are a trellis. Mine are the base beams.

This is a trellis made of loose bones and loose limbs,
loose lips and and sweaty, tired thighs burnt out
from repetition
and stupidity.

We are stupid
because we like to **** each other,
and we don't do anything else.

Stupid is when you delude yourself.

Stupid is feeding
off the final boredom of your corroborator.

I get off on her looking disinterested,
it really does make my **** harder
and I can feel it pushing up against
her walls.

It's the most truth,
this truth of disinterest,
we've ever
shared.