Borrowed Shirt
You stopped by just long enough to drop off a borrowed shirt,
too sharp to believe that the pain didn't really hurt.
Winter's upon us, I feel the chill in the air.
Maybe you'll need the shirt if you've nothing to wear.
I lent you my shirt so you wouldn't go cold
and when we were apart it was a warm hand to hold.
It's old and it's faded but it fit you so well.
There's a hole in one sleeve from the time that I fell.
I liked to imagine that shirt on your back
as you smoked the last cigarette from a weekend-old pack.
Maybe it's best that I keep it instead,
for it warms me at night when I wear it to bed.
You stopped by just long enough to leave behind the shirt you wore.
You draped it on the arm of a chair beside an open door.
Remember me wearing that old tattered shirt,
for without its warm touch, the winds of winter will hurt.
Perhaps in the spring you won't miss it at all,
but I bet you'll think back at the first sign of fall,
back to a place where our hearts beat as one
in a button-down shirt when our love came undone.
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