It is Sunday as it dawns on me,

most of my clothes had—now—to leave!

Every tight shirt, every short skirt,

all the logos, even bright colors…


Everything goes, except the “sexy”

pinstripe black slacks

that first won me your gaze.

Sins those, I decide, have reparations to pay.


The next time I feel lonely

or in need of attention,

I will take my afflicted, longing stare

straight to them.


And they can work, to remind me—

the cost of my vanity,

the stain on my soul,

the loss of our miracle,

and why the rest had to go!



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