Wrapped In Pseudo You Poem by Susan Lacovara

Your aftershave scent
Clinging to the gray robe
You last wore
That morning after love was made
And goodbyes were left
On the nightstand table
The plush fabric, though soft and warm
Hardly a substitute for the embrace
That once, was all I needed
That, then, you gave so readily
That kept the world at bay
I could hide away in your morning stare
Forever... and of free will

The fisherman's sweater
You swore was too small
Passed down to me
Lies freshly folded
Awaiting a windy day's selection
Another remainder of how your arms held me
In the shelter of sleepy eyed sweetness

In your valley, near your creek
Over the hill that houses your distance
Are there particles of the put-away me
That show up, from time to time
A lone stray strand of black hair
Threaded through the cableknit
Of the sweater you kept...
The one that fit you perfectly