Your smell of mint and citrus infused in my pillowcase, Becoming a tea bag of spices steamed to the precipice of oblivion. I don’t want to wash my sheets but a chocolate stain calls for detergent attention.
“Eating chocolate in bed?” Your mouth sputters, air escaping from a carbonated glass, Pleasant and causing your eyes to crinkle in A multitude of waves crashing on a shore of lashes.
A Jackson Pollock of yesterday morning’s coffee Splattered on the white blanket, a canvas of modern mishap. Water and soap, fading the black sheets into half a shadow. The other half missing in a mess of machine monotony. Joined by my woolen sock, only used in winter, lost by The churning and static charge changing its magnetic force away from its pair. A ball of 92% Nylon and 8% Spandex with Crescent moons of thinned fabric, where you pulled it off, Finds its way into the Soapy suds of my afternoon.