…then she turned around to get something from a shelf behind her.
Her body was perfect from that position I was in.
The way how her skirt rose from her knees to her thighs as she turned around; The way how her arms moved as she was searching those shelves; The way how the light got reflected as it touched her skin, her neck, her waist, her hands… everything was poetry.
One of those poems you can never hope to learn, one of those poems I would, by tomorrow, definitely forget.


4 thoughts on “Poetry.

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