A Poem a Day Keeps the Zoloft Away

I bought a sweater

at a thrift shop,

navigating the rows

of worn down clothes

with my nose,

I smelled deep into the soft stitching

and knew I would pay any price.

Often I can smell its pungent

odor emanating from the closet

and become aroused

at the thought of wearing it.

But I never wear it,

just smell it

and imagine the person who

had worn it before

and how they could have completed my life.

Such a strange thing

that sweater is.

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