Cardigan
Cardigan, complicit,
we turn him on. He
won’t admit it. But
we know. A slow
sleeve slides hairs
up on his arm as we
pass. Buttoned up
or shrugged undoing
from a warm shoulder.
Cardigan, deceptive
one – demurely fitted,
loose-knitted allure.
No body quite pulls
the lambswool over
his eyes like we do.
Comfort’s purest
purr to unravel his
best intentions, the
things too blushy to
mention. We let in
his hands to explore
unseen, between you
and all of me waiting
for him underneath.
