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 Part worn clothes drape wardrobe doors,
 limp as windless flags that clutter austere poles.
 Caught in limbo, their purpose unfulfilled

 neither here nor there.

 Whilst within, second skins stand sentry.
 Guises for the self-conscious assemble
 ready to do their duty, awaiting the call

 to arms. Bodies. Legs.

 A Roman orgy of leather and plastic,
 cavorts at nook bottom. Shoes swap partners
 laces entwining intimately, secretly

 fashioning odd couples.

 Cast-off's, never worn, and the outdated
 huddle like refugees in the fracas, striving
 to be inconspicuous, dreading the forced eviction

 of a Spring clean.