anodyne

As I survey your bedroom

I notice that purple sweater –

the one you bought

to wear for me because I made some

offhand comment about loving the way a woman

looks In a tight sweater…

THAT sweater…

crumpled in the corner by your bed

clearly having made a hasty exit

at some point the night before.

I want to interrogate it

ask it all the important questions ,

who

what

where

when

although I probably would avoid the how

I really, really

want to know

why.

This sweater and I, we have a bond;

it would answer my questions

maybe even buy me a drink if inanimate objects were wont to do so

it would tell me what I needed to know

all the while reminding me

that I don’t, really,

want to know any of it at all.

Tell, though, it will…

because this sweater knows you the way

I know you

how your bare skin feels against

every square inch of its surface

how your breath feels

breathing down its neck

how your breasts ache and respond to

subtle movement…

How your tears feel,

how they taste…

how it feels to be discarded,

thrown on the floor and left

for you to deal with it a different day.

This purple sweater and I…

we both gave you warmth when you needed it most

but didn’t have voice to ask for it

and we both will forget

and forgive

and allow you to wear us

any time and

any way

you desire.