Do you want your socks back?

The ones with the orange toes,

A bit tight on my feet,

That you loaned me once on a day like this.

An hour on the subway, and it was raining

Or just damp, I forget the details

Cool, for late August

My feet were soaked by the time I

Stepped into your bedroom.


My feet were always cold and wet,

When I was with you.

We’d trace the island of manhattan

Impervious to puddles.

My sixteenth birthday took thirty minutes

Before I regained sensation.

We’d stepped through late February ice for hours

And my toes were white and numb

As your incense filled the air

And we talked of dreams and perhapses.

When we fell asleep,

My feet in a pair of your socks

(those were green).


By the time we set out,

On what we never thought would be a last adventure,

With me in your orange socks, green shoes,

There was nothing but damp in the air.

I remember corn muffins

Urban Outfitters

Stories of summer drugs

And friendships betrayed

And lines in the sand we

Could see being drawn, and didn’t know

How to stop.

I remember plans for the best worst year of our lives

Everything we’d do, and with whom.

It was damp, and I talked of questions,

Of identities.


I asked you how we can ever tell if

Something’s real, or just



And now it’s March.


And I never realized I might have loved you.


And I never gave you your socks back.

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My favorite line: "It was damp, and I talked of questions." Trying to pinpoint why, exactly, but something about it sounds really good. Partly the physical and the emotional juxtaposition, I think.
What a profound theme and beautiful poem linked around such a seemingly mundane topic of socks. Brilliant!
this is unbelievable



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