Very Bad Poetry

I sit in my chair
Cross-legged, bare-footed, goose-bumped
Accepting your sweatshirt.
My arms slip through the sleeves
And clutch the cuffs with folded fingers,
The cough drops I gave you
Bulky in the left pocket.
I sink in the cotton blend
And wrap the edges of your sweatshirt
Over my lips
And over my nose.
My hand keeps the fabric there
As my lips read the brail
Of washed sweatshirt-lining.

I can smell your friends’ cigarettes
The nights you spent with Mary Jane
Shampooed hair and deodorant.
As I inhale your cologne
Breath after breath
It’s like a growing addiction that I can’t deny
Despite sirens of logic
Blaring in my mind.

So I just sit in my chair
(The chair next to yours)
And keep warm
Enveloped
In the aroma of your sweatshirt.

Marlee Fuhrmann has published since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Marlee's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Marlee's latest works: