period

I have one towel. It’s tattered but beautiful. It’s almost as heavy as a thick slab or rubber; but I need it to be that way. It wears a shade of orange so perfect that it magically exudes a comfort and sexual energy I cannot ignore. I lie it down on my bed. I take off my panties. I pull out my soiled tampon (or, ideally, menstrual cup) and toss it in a small trash can. Then, I go to bed.