His White Shirt

A fleecy touch.

Feathery linen white shirt.

Tucked inside his black fitted trousers.

His waistline rested around the leathery belt.

White linen danced on the breeze.

His skin glittered in the sun.

The white linen brightened its shade.

His scent smelled like Gucci.

The air particles rested on his shirt.

The moving dust kissed the fabric.

His hair flipped to the other side.

He ran his fingers through his hair.

His hands danced in a magical tone.

Coiffured his hair back to perfection.

His hands slowly slipped inside his pockets.

The shirt stretched itself downwards.

His skin caressed the shirt.

He gently pulled the trousers.

The shirt mismanaged its crease.

The linen moved like a velvet.

I stared at his waistline.

The disturbed crease stared back at me.

He looked straight into my eyes.

He tucked the shirt inside.

He looked at me.

He smiled.

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