Silent Partner


She noticed the painting
as I took her coat.

A nude, a red haired woman
bent over, one foot out of the tub
drying her feet
with a red towel.

"It is an old lover,"
I told her,
"but that isn't why I keep it.
I love the way the towel hangs
from her knee,
like fog drapes off a morning sun."

Her lips stole my next breath,
fingers tangled in my hair,
poetry scored another win.

Just as it had last time.

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