One of the best things I like about Winter is being able to wear my Winter jumper.
It’s big enough to wear as a dress and the sleeves easily cover my hands.
It’s vintage with Nordic patterns knitted in high quality wool.

His hand dives underneath my Winter jumper.

“Doesn’t it tickle?” he asks.
I contemplate his question.

“No, if anything it tingles like a multitude of needles brushing swiftly against skin.
It’s a joyful irritation — a constant reminder that my body is still here and receptive to sensation.”

“Masochist”, I think to myself.

When I don’t wear a bralet the wool burns my nipples.
I often don’t wear a bralet underneath my Winter jumper.

The poem Winter Jumper by Lola Noir appeared first in Synchronized Chaos.