Our Old Clothing

In soft grey you're there
and we sing the old songs, boys sang - now broken men,
of watering cans, of saying goodbye
before we knew what it was
to say goodbye.

- You in that red tie.

In the orange light you stroked that knife
against sheer tights.
The rope I was balancing on,
though metaphorical,
was a bloody, long way to fall,
I took it all with me -

You in that red tie.

In the blue of those memories
when they wash over me in threes,
I know I was awful, all purple hair and false pride,
and now even when I'm much better
in those ochre dungarees, adorning natural hair.

- That tie's the same.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Author's Note
Entry to Clothed
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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