Socks on Socks

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“The best part of winter,” he said
“Are those super long leather boots.
I wait all day for her
To come back and gather her jeans
– Muddy and frayed around the edges –
Into hurried folds up to the bend of her knees
And then that sound that peels
Leather off her legs
Inside the silence of my room
That long black zipper, the way it cuts
Through the necks of Hellos and How-Was-Your-Days”

I could see countless metal teeth bend and smile
In the vague circles of his eyes
They probably don’t even say goodbye, I thought
He probably waits in bed for that sound
That hugs her calves back to work
I wondered if he snored like a man or a boy

“I like it when guys smell of detergent,” I also tried
To sound interestingly specific
“It smells like faint responsibility to stay clean
Which is rare in a guy, if you know what I mean”

“I often daydream about her socks,” He replied
“It’s weird, you know
She has a pair with a print of small socks on it
Socks on socks
Isn’t that too cute?”