Jack Sagar Furnishings I want to ‘pick’ out a wardrobe with someone, anyone who will take me and all my bow ties and pairs of worn-out sweatpants. Mahogany sunshine sounds like a spirit to me, or the final high that him and I can try once and forget, like all the times we were grounded. Brass doorknobs we can turn, unlock together and look inside into blank space in which we will grow. Someday he’ll laugh and say that the tatty, toiled thing should be thrown away and then we will argue for days. I’ll sit inside and want not to cry, lie beside the jeans that fit him too well and they share a hanger with mine too.
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