My Flannel Heart

My heart is a flannel shirt,
buttoned up and folded neat
at the foot of the bed
after I awake each morning,
waiting for you to come home
and to sleep each night.

I'm warm against your summer arms,
covered in tans and burns.
I'm warm against your winter chest,
coated in a blanket of pale.
I'm warm in the autumn,
and I'm warm in the spring
and you wear me all year round.

Because my heart is a flannel shirt
that I wrapped up in matching plaid paper
and gifted to you from under the tree,
hoping, crossing my fingers
that you might even try it on.

I love a love that lasts till Christmas,

when you can put a price tag
on a feeling in the hopes that it
will last long enough to see the sun
again
to feel the warmth of spring,
to pick a flower or take a bath
in new found warm weather.

My heart is a flannel shirt
that I gave to you
to make my efforts tangible.
You wore it with an eager smile,
making promises with your eyes
that your heart
(like wet cardboard,
like tattered fabric)
couldn't exactly keep.

We never made it past the gates
of winter,
dying out in February
before I ever got a chance
to see the sun.

You took the pajamas
and my flannel heart.