takes out the warm, soft laundry
putting the big blanket on his face
wrapping it around like a shawl
the deep warmth hitting like a sunny daydream
imagining himself as a Russian aristocrat
regal and cherished with her lovely fox fur coat
holding it there to his cheek
feeling seven years old, maybe even five
interrupted by a
"What are you doing?"
ignoring the tone of the question
answering finally with
"It's just really warm."
and grabbing the rest of the laundry
getting on with his day
with a sincere smile on his face