Love, my old life,
looking at sixty,
is a laundry basket
filled to overflowing
with memories and fears
that need to be
washed, folded
and put away
that my remaining time
can be enjoyed
fresh, clean and free
of past stains (and sins).
I know, Love,
it is much to ask,
but will you go
to the laundromat
with me?
- mce
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