He grabbed his garment, soft yet abrasive.
It reminded him of her, the sound on a cool lit night.
His hands on her neck, the sweat and tears pouring from his eyes.
She made such a good sweater.

He thought back to his wife whom he now wore.
He didn't know why he felt bad.
Maybe he just didn't think it through.
Was this wrong? A regretful act?

She was with him always but her comfort was gone.
Her lips were now lifeless, beautiful but without feeling.
He kissed and felt death, it felt comforting but not like her.
It was an action that could never be taken back

He took the  knife he used to carve.
Tears and sweat once again pouring from his eyes.
"I'm so stupid' His last words were spoken
As he disrobed the garment for the last time.