favourite jeans
by
simon sylvester
your eyes are like denim
she said
worn and scuffed and well-loved
hers are the depths
of the atlantic
bursts of lights
vertigo darks
endless nights
for abandoned men
who wear favourite jeans
and make green tea
in favourite mugs
while she chops onions
the saucepan steams over
the lid measures in clunks
my boiling heart
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