One Hundred and Six

If I could be an article of clothing, I’d be Warren Beatty’s V-neck sweater. I’d be blue and shrinking and then he’d put me on. Smelling of cigarettes and 1967, I’d reach for his drink and complement his eyes… my threads stretching as he parts his high-rise hair. After scratching at his Oxford button-up beneath, I’d rub his back and kiss his chest, only to wake up used and on the floor.