Jumpers
I must confess, you are by far my favourite
I don’t mind stealing a kiss in the coffee shop
Between sips of our spiced lattes
Or letting you push the trolley in B&Q
When we are choosing paint for the study
In the little house in Hoxton we decided to buy
I’m not the kind of woman to care for affection
I’ve gone twenty one years without it
But with you it’s different
It doesn’t make me feel loved,
Or any more of a woman
It makes me feel alive
The closet is full of your vintage jumpers
You particularly favour brown hues
I know this, as I’ve bought you seven
I don’t mind wearing one now and again
The smell of them reminds
Of the long walks in the city we’d take
I’d let you hold my hand
After the thirteenth date
I smile to myself, thinking
How far we had come
Since then.
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