It hung over,
The stitching irreversible.
His mother had purchased it for him as a pre-Christmas gift.
He had owned it long enough for him to have stained it with the smell of his house, and his body.
I lay in the bed facing that desk chair,
Where his sleeves hugged my arms and the V-neck grazed my collarbones.
I wore it like a uniform from time to time.
I wore him like a uniform all the time.