The Shirt
I stood for a long time
and held your shirt to my face
breathing in the scent of youIt was freshly washed
but the essence of you
still clung to the garment
the aroma buried in the folds
of the rolled up sleevesMy eyes scanned the faded fabric
for some clue
as to whether
you would ever
realize how much desire I have in methen like a furtive thief
I nervously undid the front
& slipped it over my naked bodythe seams kissing my skin
the collar's slight stiffness
whispering of the last time
you pressed yourself against methe frayed cuffs displayed
none of their owner's antagonism
but lay quietly encircling my wrists
the one on the left
anxiously cradling
a loose button.
