Stained,
stray haired surface
of odor-wrapped fabric —
to nestle into and dream on—
out of night,
black, tragic—
into dawn.
Sweat and dust,
grime, wine stains, blood—
impermanent.
In a 60-minute
soap water cycle,
in a half hour
hot blowing spin—
filth gets lost in the rinse.
Inhale, exhale
fresh floral aroma.
Snuggle into sheets warm, crisp.
Spread out on a spotless surface,
dream up a world of towering bliss.
Until again it’s blotched—
then—
pack it in.
Re-rinse.
Michael Roque
Born and raised in Los Angeles, Michael Roque discovered his love for poetry and prose amid friends on the bleachers of Pasadena City College. Now he currently lives in the Middle East and is being inspired by the world around him. His poems have been published by literary magazines like Ink Pantry Publishing, WordCity Literary Journal, Hot Pot Magazine and others.