FAVOURITE SHIRT

I want you to wear me

like your favourite shirt;

close to your skin –

for your fingers to linger

on the buttons, on the rims

as you smooth me across your chest

smiling at the mirror to know

how I look best on you.

 

I want to be that collar

that may kiss your nape all evening –

play with your hair

secretly

as it brushes my mouth and makes me glow

discreetly

in a way that only you and I may know

about lips upon skin upon hair

upon skin…

about limbs…

lost in limbs…

 

I want to be your favourite shirt in summer

with nothing between us but the odour of our seasons

you granting me every reason

to saunter where I will;

ride the smoothness of your back

nestle in your armpits

tuck myself in your slacks

hug your waist

as we sit…

I’d get to follow you everywhere

with no-one suspecting

why that smile

plays for more than a while

on your lips as you smooth

again and smooth again

and smooth never enough

that favourite shirt

from the collar

 

down to my hips.

 

(from The Red Room)