Frayed sleeves and faded color
that make you dirty to fresh eyes.
I slip you on for nostalgia's sake
and button your buttons like an
old conversation recalled.
Your collar is thin and limp
and the threads of your being bare.
You hang on me like an over-sized coat
so I pull up your cuffs to manage the fit.
I wouldn't dare iron out your wrinkles
or scrub your stains.
I shouldn't venture to stitch your tears
but I do anyway...


I just feel comfortable with them. 
9 old applause
