patterns on men's shirts

i'll be blunt, 
it was all for blue floral
& forget-me-pleases. 
skipping buttons in the river.
your shirt opening like eyelids.
i can see your heart made, 
like a bird's nest,
of dismantled dawn. 
polka dots ride your spine.
we drove the car 
into a manhood monument
& hoped the impact might solidfy
our cause. i first learned 
of undone in the back of your car
where all the repetition is stored.
tell the paisley to come back
& get comfortable. 
perching our shirts 
on coat hangers
they make little half-men
who want nothing but 
to leg themselves across
the highway. i always 
line the holes up wrong.
lopsided blinking. 
zipper eyelashes. here comes
the returning stone 
to knock on a back door.
how did you get in
& how long do you plan to stay?
i'm asking you with your thumbs
gyroscoping us steady in reality.
soon i'll fly off &
not worry if the flowers
have names or not but for now
i'd like to know where 
to find a men's dressing room
this late at night.
i need a full-length mirror
& a bench & a price tag
to clip to my ear. we used to
close all the doors in the house
before we kissed. kitchen 
closet coat room. then here
we went asking each button
if it wanted to flick its wrist.
turn open the light
like an iris. button
my eyes shut. i want to walk 
in this marking. 
the ornament repeated
is my idenity. here i am
dressed for you.