I wear you like an old sweater-- |
arms around me, warmth and comfort, |
the worn places I overlook, |
the tears I hold together. |
Threads broken at the seams, we hang on, |
still able to keep the cold |
from seeping through. |
The color has faded, but |
I expect nothing more |
than the familiar feel, the smell of you. |
You need not be more than that; |
I can't expect you to be more. |
You have always been there |
as you are, as you always will be-- |
nothing more, but that's enough for me. |
Teri Lyn Smith |
Oakley, CA |