Like a second skin
In the summer,
Sticking with the sweet, sweat,
Of scintillant perspiration.
Wind sweeping,
And cooling the heated epidermis.
Like a layer of life
In the winter,
Languidly, lounging amongst layers
Of conflagrant insulation.
Wind lashing,
Yet ably warming the shivering self within.
Like a memory
In years gone by,
Melting colors,
masking the melodramatic mime
Of melancholy materialism.
Time tearing,
Or teasing, the twitters and tatters of dorsal terrain.
Like a shielding coat of armor
In the battlefield of fashion,
Proclaiming promise,
Projecting a portraiture of poetry,
Punctuating periods of productive purpose
And, perhaps, peddling provocation for further pondering.
It's difficult for me to part with my old t-shirts.
There's too much of me in them.
If I clean out my closet,
Will I loose the memories?
