oh, sweet-smelling, static-filled, still-warm sheets!
the moment after the dryer has announced in audible fashion it's through with you,
indicating that the only thing standing between me and you
is a closed door and the lint trap crying to be emptied before the next load
is the springboard into bliss.
You are worth a two-handed grab out of the dryer.
Our weekly ritual of determining long-side/short-side is soothing.
Sometimes you wrinkle. I guess everybody has bad wash days.
When you try to eat socks, I am dismayed: I think you should leave that to the UndieSock gnome.
The worst is when I have to put you back in because you're still wet.
But after you're dry, wrinkly or not, after I've wrestled your fourth corner to its proper place,
I still love the snap of the top sheet as I flick my wrists, watching you drift down atop the mattress.
You like to be mitered, but you don't like to stay that way.
You'd rather be soft than crisp, because you like to please me.
And when the quilts go on top of you, you carry their weight with pride. :)
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