corpulent, adj., & rubicund, adj.

corpulent, adj.:

2. Large or bulky of body; fleshy, fat.

Etymology:  < French corpulent, < Latin corpulent-us , < corpus body: see -ulent suffix.

rubicund, adj.:

1. Of a thing: reddish in colour, tending to redness; red.

2. a. Of the face, complexion, etc.: reddish, flushed, highly coloured, esp. as the result of overindulgence in food and drink.

Etymology:  < classical Latin rubicundus ruddy, flushed, reddish, red, either < rubēre to be red (see rubent adj.) + -cundus (in e.g. secundus second adj.) or < rubibundus (recorded in post-classical Latin (6th cent. in a grammarian) as a rejected form; < rubēre + -bundus , suffix forming verbal adjectives), with dissimilation of -b- . Compare Middle French, French rubicond (c1400 in sense 1, 1640 in sense 2; rare before the 17th cent.), Spanish rubicundo(first half of the 15th cent.), Portuguese rubicundo (16th cent.), Italian rubicondo(1308).

“Boy, we used to have fun in that fraternity house,” he recalled peacefully, his corpulent cheeks aglow with the jovial, rubicund warmth of nostalgic recollection. (Heller, Catch 22, p.241)

When I saw your bio read “sometimes life’s a beautiful dream, other times it’s a complete nightmare.” I wasn’t quite sure how your life could be a nightmare when you were everything I ever dreamed about.. Anon, I found out about your anger issues and “god damn,” I thought as I imagined the vitality of you being mad at me. And in that moment I fell in love all fucking over again. I could picture myself making you vexed, pissing you off on purpose just to see your face turn rubicund. The high red would turn to flames. You’d peer at me with love and hate in your eyes. You’d probably want to strangle me, but you’d know you couldn’t stay mad at me forever. All at once you’d fall in love all fucking over again.
—  kennedykatera

please buy me a gun
and we can take it to the quiet place behind the local supermarket
and watch the trucks come in and out, breathing in the exhaust fumes alongside the secondhand smoke of discarded cigarettes smouldering rubicund in the gutter. when i ask you to take my life i promise i will be polite, all please and thank you, all soft gratitude as i kneel down on the asphalt and bite the bullet; i promise. vitality will not stain your clothes, no blood on your palms no bile burning the carneous mess of your throat. wear white cotton gloves and leave the gun warm against the putrefying shards of my skull. thank you sweetheart, oh god you’re a gem.