Apex Flingshot

The tired Peter drips off to sleep in his vest; his tight-knit polyester Venecian vest
His legs knotted
His eyes drooped
His stomach filled
With the best parts of each left without him
And the weakest begotten from the ashy torpedo loopers

Dry it out and calm down
His old, wet desire is washed and coming up around the bend
It's like black and brown molasses
Not thick, but thicker