In the back of the closet,
I find what I seek.
Warm, refreshing,
everything but bleak.
Tailored in fashion,
striped with discontent,
zipped to the chin,
almost heaven sent.
Bearing no crest,
displaying no label.
It keeps my head level,
but this love is unstable.
Not washing machine bound,
it's dry clean only.
Sometimes love can't come clean,
it leaves me feeling lonely.
I'd die to wear it,
for just one more day.
But it has been put back in the closet,
to my utter dismay.
