laundered

laundered

there is the smell of fresh laundry
trapped in hair
  like threads of my shirt
   a warm drape
    along my back I miss
     you here to tell me it’s there
      your nose
     where it traveled upward
    the lower part of my neck
   the basket by it and my shoulder
  hands chasing it
around a soft cotton covered sternum
and below
where my stomach
  sat a feeling of
   what it felt like to be fresh
     linens in your hand
      and loose
        terry towel threads brushed into the creases
          of palms

           every one of my hairs      threads
        on end
    on end