The chest proclaims:
Twilight Collective
The red fabric faded
and
worn thin and soft over years
Of status as
that revered object:
The favorite t-shirt,
worn first from the wash.

How it flattered your form!
Now it is draped limply from mine,
Its hem nearly at my knees,
The sleeves, short on you,
Hang past my elbows,
Giving me the appearance of a child in her father's clothes,
or of a scarecrow, faded in the sun.

Your smell remains in the fabric,
And it wraps me, safely,
As you do in your arms.

Lovingly I imbibe the sweet fragrance
As a traveler does water,
found in an oasis

And I drift to sleep in this endless desert
That is separation from you,
your voice,
your touch.