at mardi gras this guy wanted to kiss my hand. and he kissed my glove. his friend was making fun of the fact that he kissed a sweater, and he replied, "that's okay, man, she's like cashmere." i always liked that so I wrote a poem about a boy like that.
he's like cashmere
The music hums
While the lights fade
I prop my head
Upon his shoulder blade
His clavicle defined
My fingertips graze
I view the curve of his back
For near me he lays
The song on the radio
I cannot sing
To me it's merely
a distant murmer, blurb, ring
His lips graze my cheeks
A smile appears
The boy envelopes me
He's like cashmere.
