When You Cannot Throw Away His Things

markus spiske
markus spiske

I wear your blue checkerboard boxers when the sun forces itself inside my room,
a sweltering of heat usually caused by your lips on my neck.
We wore our summer bodies no matter the temperature
An amalgamation of sweat
and kisses.
Everything burned.

I wear your grey cardigan when summer begins to fade
and autumn whispers,
“Put it on, Love. You are cold and he is warm.”
So I do.
Because you are warm and I need a bit of familiarity.
I am cold and I hear Lana Del Rey in the distance.
“You fit me better than my favorite sweater.”

I wear the purple hoodie you bought our freshman year
because it was your school color
and you know how much I love purple
and you.

I wear you
even when I’m in nothing.
Baby,
that’s when I wear you the most.

When it is just skin
and memories.

When it is just nothing
and everything. TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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