Sweater

Chill, black sweater, let them think you’re plain. Hopping inside but be cool.

Won’t show my vigor in its vibrancy; barely slip the brightening grays—suggestive, arresting, and the weight of nectar in the air curdles the structure of evenness: glossy, heightened, can’t subdue it.

Cool it down and cover your kneecaps. First a blanket, last a bandage. A breath, but no one knows.

You could own them, destroy them, trap them in a trance called trouble, but be good, girl sit down.