Shhh…do you hear that hum?
Fleece tangled, static spun,
shocked through dips and slides,
stuck to shoulders, lace exposed.
Threadbare, warm air, burnt collar oil,
synthetic smells and wool sock lost
in a pant leg, your chest pressed,
snagged on my fly, and yes, our stains.
Shhh…it rocks you to sleep.
When midnight laundry is done
you lie on top of the sheets and I pour
the pile from your feet to your neck.
The weight of heat makes your eyes close.
Just a few pounds of clean cotton fire.