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Sweater


She sent me back

my sweater, blue

borrowed years ago

all faded, woven, color

of twilight snowfall

on a hushed hillside

there—in the box, silent

all softness, no note

...........forgotten—

Lent out in a drunken

cold moment of

sweet New York City spring

to the girl with unimaginable

...........eyes, hers a silken skin

...........of long ago

..forbidden ballrooms

not a trace of desire, just

...........a smile,

a small price to pay

for a brief touch, caress

the Sweater, a letter,

...........long lost

in the mail—of forgotten faces

...........lifted

from its encasement delicately

as if butterfly wings its very

...........fabric

the scent, sandalwood, Egyptian

...........cotton

and sweet musk, all imbued

...........completely

paying the price for

........dear remembrance

............... ...of the night

........of not quite so fast

the fragrant portrait of

............summer's rain

finding its way past my

better judgment, and over my head

By mid afternoon, a spell of

..........something long since past

creeps its way

..........into my veins, a stirring

I hadn't

..........thought possible,

having drowned it on

a drought ridden shore

of solitary sleep

..........This lust—

this conspiracy of desire

a rush of thoughts

of who to consume

but there are none

and a sudden wonder

takes hold—

..........of just how many

hands

..........had pulled the soft blue

up and over

..........how many times

had the sweet

..........breasts beneath

been exposed, threads pulling

tighter—

How many washes

would be necessary

to remove the reminder

of what once never was

.....what once can never be

how much hot water

.....can never wash

.....her desires from me.

~

words: Sheila Lynne, Georgia (Scarlets Walk)
image: Joel, Germany (dying light)

~

another story about her:
In Her Looking - The Girl in the Black Sweater

 

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BluePrintReview - issue 20 - The Missing Part

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