blue jeans

i plan what to wear
weeks before
we’ll see
each other,

even though
it will be dark, and
we won’t talk, and
it won’t matter
so

i pick blood
red for my lips
and jeans with big pockets
to hide all my things, and
to carry nothing
on my person,
my hands left swinging

and
wouldn’t it be funny
if our hearts were all denim
still prone to rip
but they could have pockets
you’d put your hands into keep our things safe,
hold them,
gently

you’d keep your hands there
to warm up, and
to stay
that way.

Image from the film Breakfeast at Tiffany's, dir. by Blake Edwards