Poem for her 754

Dear Readers,


Black tank top

Packed in a suitcase
With no suits in it
Yet there is a shape of things
Shirts that used to fit me
That fit her just fine
Things that we hand picked
For our trips
From shops along the way
Little things not for wearing
Camera film, cards
The scrapbook, pages to write on
There the black tank top
Wrapped in a t-shirt from 2002
Makes my fingers want to dance
When I get to put the shirts
On her skin and see her smile
Feel the heat in the room go up
See the layers of days
When first it was seen
When it was seen again
The months and years gone by
This one fabric held in case
Case of wanting special threads
To be added to the layers
Of cake slice by slice
Entwined fingers

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.