Hot and Fat
My arms are moist, uncomfortably.
Standing in the humidity of a tiny bathroom after an overdue shower.
Heat hovers disgustingly around my squeegeed sack; a pink puss of skin.
I thank the mirror for being useless.
Covered like I am beneath a wet disgrace, hiding a face that sweats to stay hidden.
A towel's wipe can only last so long in idle airs.
Copyright © B. Joseph Fitzsimons | Year Posted 2024
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