"This is not a love poem since I hate doing laundry...or am I talking about something entirely different here?"
"If you enjoy my writing, hit the tiny heart underneath and leave a comment to share your thoughts with me. Credits are always appreciated 💛"
There is a pile
mountain high.
~
not out of rocks
but made of discarded socks.
~
you'll never find trees
but dirty panties
~
Strip down bare
'Till there's no room to spare
~
Inside this machine
From filthy to clean
~
After all its spins
a new cycle begins.
