I’m washing my clothes and some of them smell of you, not really you but the memory of you lingers on them. My Olfactory transmits you right into the front of my memories.
Each cloth I pick up, like an old cassette rewinds my mind and plays you; You are my old school jazz, and love making RnB songs.
You, in my big old clothes, like a hot sexy hobbo; somehow it looks better on you than it does me, maybe because I’m seeing twice the love.
I love how the hat tucks your head in and makes your eyes a secret; how it’s just short enough to show your thighs but long enough to cover the subject.
I want that hoodie back
Truth be told, I’m not sure if I want to wash these clothes, I want to lie here, in these dirty garments and just be absorbed in the scent of you; Be stuck in limbo of right now and what used to be
Damn, I really want my hoodie back, it’s not here.
You’re the last person who was wearing it. I said it’s looks better on you, yeah, only when you’re around me.
I’m going to report you
I want my hoodie back
So I can burn it, let it become ash just like our relationship.
I heard you tuck it under your head when you sleep, like a pillow so you can think of me.
That’s nice, but like a league log table this race between you and I is over; I’m not sure you’ll even get that football reference.
I want my hoodie
It was mine, I only borrowed it to you because I wanted to keep your heart warm.