Alligator, suede, Rubber can wade, Soul-mates are made, To march on parade

I'm the throat of your household. Popular in December, ignored in May. My feet are on fire, my head is cold. I breath out ghosts, white and grey.

Flat traveler bridging the gap, a steady friend in a storm, laid across to bear the weight or stand tall in the face of waves.

I rest in your drawer beside forks and knives, but at night I help two people align their lives. By soup or by snuggle, I’m always in tune. What am I? Why, I’m your trusty-!

Trampled on every day, so unfair, I get no respect Pets and flees, heavens me, what's with the neglect Burns galore, I deplore, a rambunctious childs slide Dried cells, hair, and nails, all of which I hide