Love is a laundry basket

 
Emotions turned inside out,
twisted and stretched out of shape
Love disappears like missing socks,
coming apart at the seams
and everything seems too tight
[leave the 'all you can eat' buffet out of this]
But sometimes you fit like broken in jeans,
hugging me in all the right places,
caressing me with out of the dryer warmth
and you smell like fresh sea breezes
So in the very bottom of the laundry basket,
trying to hide beneath the layers,
I find our love crumpled and torn
but clean and renewed,
ready to face another week,
until the next laundry day