cold/holes in your hosiery

These natty tights
have been sporting holes
for many weeks of wear,
but finally today
they’ve reached their limit

along with the letter
signed Love Always
& the glossy photobooth shot,
one on the lap of the other,
lust-blind, vacation-tanned.

It’s too cold for reflecting
on beaches, lust or letters,
so pad to the kitchen
in homeworn slippers,
& toss that shit in the trash.

Susan prompted the Real Toads to write on a theme of hello or goodbye. Hello, this is poem number 24 of 30 for National Poetry Month! And today's the third birthday of the runaway sentence, hip hip hooray!