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 |