Why can’t for once someone accept my love
Try it on like a pair of pants or gloves
Wear it a bit longer like a stylish cut
Or so many times as you would a favorite
Until it is covered in stains and cigarette burns
And smells of a favorite expensive perfume
It smells of dizzy lovers
Cheap whiskey
Heavy regrets
Well, hopefully not any of those yet
Tattered and torn but the pockets still work
It’s vintage (like the best stuff)
All the hours connected to skin
It wrapped you during any weather
It would do it again
You ponder trashing it in the bin
A gift to charity is less of a burden
Never contemplating sewing it at the hem
Fixing parts where it may be broken

© Delia Ross. 2019

2 thoughts on “Vintage

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