Clouds

Clouds stack like fur coats in charity shops
The scents on their pelts lingering
Their edges ragged with age.
I run my fingers through, sensitive to the nap
Reluctant to drag the hair backwards
Scared it will spit like an angry cat.
I am proud, when a lady approaches me
Asks if I want to try them on, and I reach
For that moment of clarity,
When I want to reach out and grab clouds in my hands
And wear them like a lover
Wrapped over my body like a second skin.