It hung on a hook on my closet door.
Soft plaid flannel,
blues and grays,
softer with each wash.
At workday's end  
I took off my daily armor
and slipped my arms into sleeves
that hung inches past my hands.
I fastened buttons over bare *******
and tied the hem around my hips.
I held it to my face, breathed
and thought I could smell your scent,
lingering after dozens of washings--
the musk of masculinity--
an essence of strong sinews,
curly chest hairs
and work-worn hands.
I wore the shirt to bed  
and drifted into sleep,
knowing I was not alone.
The memory of you clung to me--
the softness of unspoken intimacies,
the warmth of domestic familiarity.
In slumber, forgetting