mail me your favourite sweatshirt
the socks you wore yesterday to work
your jeans, the ones that are learning to smile at the knee

i will carry our laundry together down the hill to my favourite laundromat
and watch the machine for approximately thirty eight minutes, give or take
to remember what it felt like,
the intimacy:
my right sleeve over your left leg,
your left sock, clinging the lining of my pocket
my pant leg, nuzzled against yours

i will feel you again:
wonder if our sleeves will embrace
when they spin
wonder what stories your socks will
choose to share with mine:

where you went last night,
how late you stayed out dancing,
the parts of you that linger
no matter how hard you
try to get rid of them.

wonder if the grass-stains,
the cum, the wine, the sweat,
the phlegm, the lint, the me
will come off together,
like we can
forget the fuck-ups.

and i’m sorry that i am low on detergent
and still yearn for the dirtiest parts of you:
that scent that lingers on the left elbow of my sweater,
that memory that clings onto your right shoulder.

and i promise i will mail your laundry back to you:
let it dry in transit
like my face
that day you ripped my chest pocket
and i stole your scarf
(check your closet / it is missing)

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