Young Writers Society

You left your jacket,
Behind the leather armchair.
Soft and black, worn with time.

I wear it around the house,
Burying my face in the collar
Pretending you’re wrapped around me.
Your smell marks it,
Makes it your own.
Metal, lemon, smoke.

You’ll ask for the jacket back
And I’ll lie and say I can’t find it.
I don’t want to give away
The only piece I’ve ever had of you.

One day the smell of you will fade from it
Making it an anonymous jacket,
Anyone’s jacket.
My scent will replace yours:
Vanilla, mint, shampoo.
I won’t feel you with me
Any more.