She puts her hand over his mouth; he looks to her, inquisitively, tiredly. They have not left the bed for days. They are protesting life. They are sore from their lying so much. Their backbones feel like animals trying to break a tether. Whose idea was it? Neither's...they simply didn't leave bed one morning...one waiting for the other to leave first. They are starving; their sheets are damp with sexual excess. Weakly, now, they make love, losing the last of their spiritual salt in feverishly dilute ejaculation and orgasm. Otherwise, they talk about how nice it would be to be intoxicated, drunk on wine while starving. Their eyes move slowly in their heads. They are trying to melt into the sheets.
John Dos Passos