There’s just something about the way
those jeans fit and feel.
That comfy blue denim,
the worn in, familiar feel.
Like someone poured me into them.
Like they were crafted just for me.
My legs sheathed in cotton.
I can conquer the world.
I don’t know how Alexander the Great
managed without a pair.
The threadbare spot spots that wear out,
Indigo wash fading a touch,
But still my trusty denim blues
clad my bare behind.