My towel, green as a forest, thick as a tree in summer, stares down sadly on a post, because I at most use it once every earthly rotation, if even that. My towel wraps me and dances a caressing tango on my nudity, shrouded in a hot fog of steamy mirrors.
You know me like a drenched basin knows a well. You dip in for a while, drawing water from me, hoping it will rain soon so that you can find fulfillment in me.
Like a winter cape I wear you in, the fur of your skin akin to the thin pinch of chocolate mints, a tint of December wind in your appearance.
I forget you along the way, cast you off and leave you hanging high to dry. One day, we'll fly again. One day, I won't forget why we went.
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