the him.
the him. stories
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parrisgogh
parrisgoghArt is my reason of life.
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago

the him.

by parrisgogh

he smelled of expensive cologne,

and wore a sharp suit sharper than the sharpest knife .

his legs were like fire,

walking briskly down the buzzing streets of uptight professionals.

he touched with rough- felt fingers,

with grasps as light as feathers.

words flowed from his lips like a river,

painting thin air with the hot breath of speeches.

the delicious sound of his smooth caramel- like voice,

slurred as if his tongue met wine.

his skin has the soft glow of the moonlight,

casting on the limbs of pure, untouched beauty.

he laughs like the adolescent,

and loves genuinely like a person would for weath.

the him, mysteriously intimidating,

yet has a heart greater than gold.

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