You gave me your jeans to patch up some holes,
but they were too worn; I couldn\'t fix them.
Even the patch you gave me fell apart;
you had worn them to threads, you loved them so.
I kept a tiny patch of the denim;
it smelled of you and it\'d touched your skin.
I never told you, but I wore the jeans.
They were here, they filled in in your absence.
If only I could patch them up like new;
in your grace, you would let me stay in you.