An idea of a poem

... that's not there yet. Definitely needs more work. I'm going to post it up here to preserve the spark ...

Love Poem #7

Such a stupid hat:
not you at all, falling
across your eyes, a brim
full of dust mites
to choke our kiss.
Some form of orange
without feathers
- felt, maybe,
or shoddy cloth.

So many garments
rolled tight to fit
in this cupboard.

We've stopped dressing up
for each other:
our entertainments
are surer; ingrained
within our bones
but not yet
sclerotic.