I put myself in a washer and tumble dryer
On high heat and become a tenth of my size.
Wrung out and wrinkled
I beseech them to carry me in their pockets one-by-one to you.
I ask one to dust me a little
And iron my creases out before you take me and stretch me out again.
Alas, I am parched and flattened
As I lie on his table.
My planar existence is an oddity
In your world of multiple dimensions.
I hope he crumples me in a ball and
Not fold me with clean lines or leave me there with the window open.
P.S.- Cold War Kids song may have been in my head or maybe Calvin. Who knows?
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