Would you wear a killer's cardigan?
It's only wool, see, a weave of sheep
caught on needles for the looping.
And this ring, a sweetheart's gift,
has no talismanic magic; the stones
intone metaphors - a lasting garnet love.
I do not need to knock wood: I know my luck
is in you. Those locks of your hair I curl
in my wallet? A keepsake, no more,
for when our fringes were young.