TOWEL

bless me father--it's been days since my last object writing...

sitting on the toilet, seat closed, wrapped in a scratchy wet tongue of fabric like a parcel of prime real estate, warmpth, covering the microacres of your wet clammy body, a slug in april, nearly sliding off the seat, spasming to keep warm. its egg yolk yellow somehow creates a sarcastic psychology of comfort.

a towel is a hand that comforts you. a towel is a warm skin waiting to be used, hanging limply on a hook. a towel is a patch of color on the drab sand of a windy beach, a towel keeps the secrets of the contours of your body. a towel is a servant waiting. a towel is a sponge. a towel throws light onto the eyes of swimmers at the pool. a towel covers the casual shame of TV shower bimbos.