His maroon hoodie,

The one with the think silver zipper down the front

And hand sewn mending at the end of each sleeve,

Did not return home with him tonight.

He gave it to me today

When I was cold

And we were holding hands.

He slipped his arms out from their source of warmth

And hung it over my shoulders.

I could feel the soft, smooth lining

As its warmth began to surround me.

The sleeves were too long

And the pockets torn

But it remained cherished

Because now, 3 days later

His smell still lingers in the thread.

I can zip it up and bury my face in my arm

To imitate the warmth and smell of being held

By my might be love.