When we first basked
In the moonlight’s ever
Stating our soliloquies
You gave me a jacket
To warm the coldness of
Now you’re gone
And now I am left
With nothing more than
To represent the love you had for me
Somewhere there is a glass vase,
with white Lilly's wilted at the edges.
A pile of letters, unceasing.
A candle half its lifespan.
A hair laying between the creases of her sweater.
I suppose we go bit by piece, sometimes having not knowing.
He tugged at a snag
On our tattered old sweater
And left but a pile of thread.
Made for us
Out the widow
In the house
On the couch
In a sweater
“How are you?”
Haven’t seen snow in 6 years. I miss it so much! Winter is my absolute favorite season. What’s yours?
Let the bottom fabric tickle the top of my thighs like your fingers do,
breathe in deep and worry washes out onto the floor.
Let the threads collapse into my skin and wind around my veins,
entrenching you deep into my body, so I can’t slide out of your grasp.
Let your smell and touch sneak into my dreams
and sweeten them with your honeyed smile and speckled cheeks.
Let me be a part of us indefinitely, an unwavering promise
here’s to the thrift store sweaters,
well-worn, wooly and warm,
meant for curling up
with a book and hot tea
as the snow comes
here’s to the little stray cat
street-smart, striped, and shy,
tossed to the curb
but somehow still grateful
for the touch of a stranger
here’s to the weary lovers
run-down, restless romantics who've
learned to stitch up their hearts
and put on their smiles
because life is too short
to waste it
i heckin got this
she wanted this tight hug to be affection,
but to her dismay,
he coiled her like a snake does its prey
before it’s swallowed whole.
he released her into a twirl
and quickly slung her back into a dip
before closely gripping her once again.
she would continue this dance
with the devil in his christmas sweater.
Tonight I'll swim in your sweater
and I'll dream of waking up
in a soft nest of white gold
with your messy hair
teasing the freckles
off my tired nose.
Mortality is surprising as it should be.
That you should die is not implied by life
Or pain. There is a sweater hanging in his closet.
If one were to look closely at the
neck the thread begins un
re. No one will
d. But it is his sweater and he noticed.
But it is only a sweater and really no one will notice.
It isn't what they look for.
this is my favorite pair of jeans.
they fit my legs tight and then loose and the color keeps to itself.
this is my favorite sweater.
it keeps me warm and it’s the color of moss.
i’ve been wearing the same shirt for three days, but i’ve showered between those days
i’ve been seeing you for a week but you’ve talked to your girlfriend between those days.
my neighbor threw my clothes on the floor cause he needed the dryer
so now i have to wash them all over again and i don’t have $3,
the machine ate two so i only have one left
your copy of rear window is on my floor.
your copy of monty python is on my floor.
thick hair, thick hands, thick wool,
i’m thinning but you’re only getting warmer
i’m tired of men entering my life and taking all of my heat right before winter comes.