His shirts

A poem

I smell your shirts, it’s how I wake,

I touch them, not knowing what to make

of the urgent need to hold them near

…so my soul can feel you, touch and hear…

I crave your cologne, precious gold

to my nose, I lovingly hold … and

allow one spray on the hardest day

…so my broken soul can find her way…

I wear your shirts when I’m cold

to feel a hug, to sense your hold.

I know the oldest ones are best …

… softening my soul, deep in my chest…

But tonight …

A little nudge deep in my heart

to choose a few and try to part

and place them in a bin, just so …

…so my soul can rest, my peace can grow…

I feel your kiss upon my lips,

my heart, it pounds, it swells and flips.

These things, you say, they help and hurt,

and your soul’s with me, not in your shirt…

your soul’s in me, not with your shirt.

Ninety percent of his wardrobe consisted of Glenn Marlow running club t-shirts. I wear the red long-sleeved one all the time. (Look at his smile. We were in San Antonio when this picture was taken.)

I loved Geoff in this shirt. He would wear it for me, always with some of his cologne. Those of you who know him know that button-ups with a collar were not his style! (This photo was taken on one of our dates that ended up at Oklawaha Brewing, where we would drink beer and play checkers.)