I can’t read you what I’ve just written,
And I swear it was the most profound thing,
A sonnet beyond mortal ears, wet glassy eyes and trembling hands wringing wrists ,
As Goosebumps cover every single square inch of your skin,
 
How could this happen, I’m irresponsible again,
How could any loving, living being lose,
Grasp of a thing so great and it’s capability, OH! the saving grace
Of wounded healing hearts Longing and broken,
 
Scratching my inscriptions on paper, along margins,
Brown paper grocery bags covered in little notes,
Which I’ve torn off,
And shoved deep into my pockets,
Salvation for remeberance later of now and then,
 
Forgotten how much I loved that uncontrolled scribble,
Tossing those beloved worn jeans into the washer, 
Added detergent and an ample amount of softener
All before setting this unspeakable destruction in motion,
 
I’ve achieved a goal! Mother would be proud,
The level of maturity that she often questioned me about,
As I brought load after load of laundry home from college for her,
Yet hadn’t time for conversation,
As the bag barely hit the floor and I raced to meet friends,
 
2 a.m. as I pull the the heaviest fabric from the warm dryer,
What’s this in my pocket now all those loving, healing words 
LINT.