Part of being the love of my heart—

I’ll steal your sweater,
your t-shirt,
the slippers I bought you for Christmas.

Your skin cells live in them best—
your scent.

I won’t feel bad about it.
I’ll justify my thievery as need
and still ask you to hold me close,
wearing something of yours
just because I can.

I guess I’m a bit of an animal like that.

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