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.