Four coffees deep and I’m touching cloth. It sleuths out slowly just like a sloth.
The stench is pungent, heavy and thick. The logs so robust they start to stick.
Not uncomfortable, but not quite fun. The logs curled softly like a cinnamon bun.
The air gets heavy, my brow now wet. Multiple logs, have made me sweat.
I sit for an age, I start to contemplate life. I barely realise, my anus in strife.
It’s nearly over, I’d almost admitted defeat. But I knew my anus could do it, and handle this feat.