Non-Stop Cycle

March 16, 2017

There they are on my bed.
Piles and piles they lay,
laced with lavender

I pick up one warm piece of cotton
and begin to form its uniform shape.
I work like a machine
as one leaves my fingertips
I Gain another one in my hand.

The mess of rags now
find themselves in
Tide-y, unwrinkled stacks






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