Fat Naked People

I wonder if my neighbors are fat naked people and when they have sex their skin rubs like silk in the spin cycle, slipping and indistinguishable in their wetness. I wonder if they smell like coconut lotions and sweat and they press into each other with their roundness, and he is lost in her and she is herself with him, for a moment forgetting the relief in the eyes of devilish skinny girls as they realize they look much more attractive to their men when she passes in the street, by restaurant tables, in grocery isles. I wonder if the pain in their bones, their hearts, her back, disappears, if they heal one another. If the pressure of being fat and naked in front of another person is taken from their throats without the numbing of alcohol, or if the numbing of alcohol is out of habit and shared among them. Or maybe they're always happy, with each other, without, maybe they're secure and that's why she groans without shame and he grunts while they fuck and that's why I am sitting here listening to my neighbors making human connections at 4 a.m. and sometimes I am listening to them argue without shame and like they hate each other. Maybe it's why they'll do anything to fill their apartment with themselves, their volume and their wetness and their touching, so full that it leaks through the walls and it draws me and I wish we all could have more.