Your hoodie still hangs in the back of my closet...

It's been there for months

But i cant bring myself to throw it out
It's the only thing that still smells
Of your sweet cologne and shampoo,
The cigarette smoke and green smoke too

It holds the memories of your hand

And when i see it I'm looking into your face again,  as you say "I love you"
Something so often done that
I'll never again see you do

Wearing my shirt
Under your sweatshirt...
That pretty shade of teal
I don't know how I feel

You look good,
And great,
And even with your hood,
You're not second rate

You look beautiful
My beautiful
You look amazing,
Darling

We're going to stick together,
Even if it's the last thing we do.
We're going to stick together,
Even if I have to die for you.
We were just the shy kids at school,
But then taken away.
Now we're proxies,
And we're here to stay.

eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper  to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin.  After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch

While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle.  That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity

When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)

having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.