Wednesday, March 11, 2009

goody bag

It was way past time for me to do laundry.
My bag had clothing sitting on top of it, falling to the floor below,
covered in the dust bunnies hiding in the shadows of my closet.
I dumped it all onto the floor,
finding a thin plastic bag within the pile, full of the smoke smelling attire
from our last hazy night at the club.
I poked a hole in the bag, ready to separate the whites from the colors,
when I stopped and stared
at my reminder that things so quickly had changed.
None of the clothes smelled of smoke anymore,
and unfortunately, they smelled not of you, either.
The dark jeans that rubbed their blue onto my shoes
I turned inside out.
The blue boxer briefs that made my ass look even bigger
I threw with the dark colors.
The light colored work shirt that I tossed in the middle of the night
--or was it morning?--
in order to feel your skin on mine
I left on top of the pile.
Soon, they'll be nothing more but dirty clothes
wet and entwined in each other's embrace,
until they are dried and folded
and left to become a part
of some other weekend's memory.

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