TOWEL

Am I just a piece in your daily rites:
Used, dampened and hung up to dry?
I often wonder how much you love me,
Whether you really like me the way it seems.

I’ve heard you speak of loving my colour;
Of being impressed by my very soft texture;
You say I soak up a lot and I’m exquisite
That I’ve been around for quite some time.

I’ve mapped all your contours and your folds;
All your nakedness I’ve known by the tendrils
Of my soft fine strands; and my memory always
Soaks up your body scent fresh from a bath.

I shield your bare bosom beneath my softness,
Hugging you deftly as you step out the bath –
Touching your torso, your hips and your thighs.
We are intimate. I even feel much more!

I know your covered secrets: the birth mark,
The fair patch, and the mole. I enjoy the way
You guide me gently inbetween your legs
Soaking the moisture (that, I know is mutual).

I savour every inch of our salubrious relationship:
The way you care, keeping me clean, the hot
Soapy washes and warm times in the sun –
Keeping me crisp and fresh for ready use.

I appreciate your shaved legs and trimmed hairs;
Your silky skin; your spotless face and your long hair.
Still I wonder how deeply you love me, whenever
You hang me out to dry.

Copyright ©November 7, 2017. Elo Igboeli. All Rights Reserved.

6 thoughts on “TOWEL

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