There's something about this sweatshirt - the thinness of the fabric or the cut of the sleeves - that is distinctly feminine and oh god, it's intoxicating. A soft and slender arm to drape across one's shoulders at will.

It hearkens back to evenings, nights, wee morning hours a few Octobers ago. Entangled, enfolded, adrift. Chaste, yet breathtakingly electric. A scent so sweet as to pang, dark and almost painful betwixt trembling ribs.

Could you fold me up with your other clothes to swim, awash in your scent and buoyed by the feel of your fabrics? For all my flighty irreverence, I'd be your most willing prisoner.

Daydreams swirl, amorphous specters around my head. Oh, that I could grab them with my hands and spin them into something solid to gift you. A string of silk spinning forth from pursed lips.

Here are the threads. Spin away.