my sweater is the color of a copper sun,
her warmth transfers to me as if powered by one,
and her sleeves smell of genuine love.
my beautiful sweater,
worth a million and one,
has just begun,
begun becoming undone.
how could i have not noticed?
the golden thread fluttering about?
it’s exposed and prone to injury,
i cannot wear such a delicate fabric out.
looking for a pair,
of equally delicate shears,
didn’t notice yet again,
she’d get caught here.
feeling a patch of coolness on my side, i looked down in horror,
my sweater was imperfect,
pretty much soiled… very uncoiled.
crying into the fabric,
i realized it still smelt of my childhood.
it still shone like a coppered sun,
it still grasped at my skin like a thousand tiny hugs.
i wasn’t willing to cut off all of the imperfections,
she was still my favorite sweater,
she was just in need of some love.