ode to sweaters

I.
My dear Orange Sweater
with the fluffy sort of edges,
when I pull you on and tie up your ruffles
good and tight,
you remind me of me
if I was a clown.

A good clown, though;
not one of those clowns
that everybody hates for some reason.

(Is is cool to hate clowns?
Is it some kind of terrible trend?
Did everyone simply watch
Stephen King's "It"
at too impressionable of an age,
and so now everyone assumes clowns
secretly have fangs
and enjoy tearing the arms
off of small children?)

II.
Purple Sweater
with the pseudo-crocheted pieces
at the sleeves and attached in various other places
as well:
You are, of course, my favorite.
You don't make me look like an evil clown
or a grape popsicle
or too New-Agey
unless people are skirting around
the truth.

You are:
the perfect weight.

And you are:
soft.

And you have:
only a few moth holes.

But I don't care about your moth holes!:
You're my oldest sweater and my most beloved.
You are mature in a good way.

I wish
that I was wearing you now.

III.
Lavender Sweater Dress,
you count, even though
you are really more of a dress than
a sweater. Sort of.

You are the only sweater I have
that I can pair with leggings
and no actual pants,
although I have not yet done so,
because it has been
much too hot since my birthday
which is when
I. Got. You.

IV.
Darling Pink Sweater.
Oh
Darling
Pink
Sweater.

You are my baby,
my newest love.
With your little tie that I can twirl
like a hooker's tassels
if I choose to do so.

Twirl.
Twirl.

Twirl.