Heat slips up our shirts, sweaty beads of ***.
We twist our clothes, grabbing at flesh, groping for ***.
The hard squeeze and pressure is scooping out the soul—
Please, push it out, we want to be left bare and have ***.
Our skin is strung together, our bodies hollowed, dry;
Blind to the heat and the mess, we’re swept up by a blissful, empty ***.
The sheets, salted with sweat, are heaved off the bed,
Pillows gone, clothing gone, here there is nothing but ***.
Gasping and shouting, we purge ourselves, we are nothing—
I am pure and vacant, I’ve rushed my blood to my groin for ***.
And moments like these are strained and stretched.
Then, release, the moment falls from us as wet as ***.
Like sheets, pillows, clothes, the rest of me returns:
Too tired to move, I listen to our breathing, short huffs in the air after ***.