A boisterous ding
was produced by the dryer.
As my fingers enclose the handle,
a current of warm air
Escapes.

I grasp the heavenly,
lightweight fabric.
It slithers out of my long fingers.
Like a black viper,
Wrapping itself around my hands
And battling for its freedom from my grip.

Its godly form,
Lintless and all.
My legs, oddly long,
And undeserving of such perfection.
They slip into the flimsy, velvety material.
Like two abominable tree branches,
with delicate silk hanging upon them.
The black silk of a kimono
worn by an elegant geisha.
Or like the gentle waves of
a shore at twilight
engulfing my legs.

They stay a matte black
but, depict a clear night sky
sans any disturbance,
A comfortable clutch to my legs,
Down to my ankles.
A slight cinch at my waist like
like a thin seat belt,
saving me from distress.
Its thin band secures at my ankles.
So they’re not just pieces of fabric,
but comfort woven into the cotton threads,
Seemingly sewn by the gods.
A simple item.
A complex significance in my everyday life.
Like the salt to my dull meals
or the effective adhesive to a black stained glass window .
A divine item that keeps me composed.