I haven’t been wearing your sweaters.
On the back of my door
It isn’t warm or anything,
Frost on windowsills and I’m cold.
You forgot them there on purpose. Sleeves pre-rolled up, for me
Little woven soldiers on plastic coat hooks
And I really am fucking cold.
I thought I’d tell you now
Since I guess I don’t know when I’ll have a better time
That I looked up from reading
At the half-man shadows they cast –
Asymmetrical and impotent.
Shuddered at their expectancy
I’m wearing all my own clothes.