Favourite Blue Sweater

And fear scratched my throat, a feral creature

Nostalgia and panic a pallet of olive and scarlet

Diverse in my being leaving me custard flimsy

He and his favorite blue sweater, faded and frayed as the time

Raven hair damp from the season and that scent,

Washing powder, eager cologne and fondness

My knuckles breaking through my skin, white, two inches away maybe one

My index aching to reach and touch he wouldn’t sense

Not so light a discerning touch and with one jerky motion it was complete

Fingers resting in the warm nook of his hood, his favourite blue sweater

My safe place in his obscure corners as he flashed through me like a lifetime

This time as he shifted and pulled away I allowed him

Left again. Just him and his favourite blue sweater.

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