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His Maroon Hoodie
His maroon hoodie,
The one with the think silver zipper down the front
And hand sewn mending at the end of each sleeve,
Did not return home with him tonight.
He gave it to me today
When I was cold
And we were holding hands.
He slipped his arms out from their source of warmth
And hung it over my shoulders.
I could feel the soft, smooth lining
As its warmth began to surround me.
The sleeves were too long
And the pockets torn
But it remained cherished
Because now, 3 days later
His smell still lingers in the thread.
I can zip it up and bury my face in my arm
To imitate the warmth and smell of being held
By my might be love.
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