My daughter dances to the dryer
Worn sleeves are
warmed up.
Swaying,
She closes her eyes
like I do
Every time I lose myself to dance.
We quiet a world
That asks us to be more body than clothes
I join her
We move to the knocking
of cotton
dirtied by yesterday
cheerios.
salt.
saliva laughter.
I fold into her
We do not need
to be cleaned
The purist of love
moves on hardwood floor.