denim
you cursed me with your closet
Of denim demons
that fit me like a glove
and the ghostly whisper
of what could have been love
your jeans are tailored to my hips
I know because when your pelvis
pressed against mine
they shared the same width
the length of your legs equal to mine
I know because of how perfectly
Our exhausted limbs intertwined
After you finished and rested inside
I keep you in my pitiful pockets
Collecting stranger’s complements
Of how these jeans were meant for me
I bury this hope and lock it.
You weave through the belt loops
Of my tortured mind
Shame of letting myself stoop
So low. To taste your frayed forbidden fruit.
The zipper is stuck
And I try everything to pull myself up
From dwelling in your denim
But I still wear them out,
Saying I dont give a fuck.
Though I do.
reminding myself of the truth:
that I wear them better than you