Loser

Lisa leaned in and let her husband light her lucky strike as he lathered her legs with lotion. He lethargically listened to her longings and loathings, her likes and laments while lubricating her large, lumpy, lower limbs with Lubriderm. Her locutions left him longing for liberation from her lap of luxury, from loads of lust that lacked the lubricity needed for even a loose lay. Laughter, love and loyalty had all become lucid lies lost in a labyrinth of laxity, and lately he had become lazy. He looked at Lisa as she lipped her lucy on her lilac lounge chair. She was a lush and he loathed her for that. He looked away as he lathered more Lubriderm.