Corduroy Shirt

House party.
Empty garden.
Sitting on a stone wall.
I undo the top button
And touch cold fingertips
Onto warm collarbone:
You don’t complain.
Winter is here tonight;
The air bites and I’m glad,
I’ve grown tired of mild weather.
Like furrowed lines in a ploughed field,
I trace them with my finger from
Your collar to your waistband.
I scrunch a handful of loose material
At the base of your back
And imagine the cold air creeping in
Under the velvety material
Onto your pale skin.
You kiss me then, quite unexpectedly
Which, also unexpectedly,
Makes me think of
My very first kiss:
In a field in summer when I was 14,
Clumsy and somehow unreal.
Here I am now, with you,
Your corduroy shirt,
This cold air.

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