short one...

bow-legged...he...the wholesome mirage that gripped my occular portals. I...intense moments like mini-cinematic expressions. I watched you amid the opera-like silence, us casting glances betwit. You...whooooo, the sound of my mind being blown...soprano this itch I felt, the tenor of your passion greeting my legs with ripe smiles... He was bow legged, the hard bodied man; spiffy in suit by halston but equally fly in urban apparel...he caught my sigh in his hands, caught my glancing raining up his form, my air drunk off the low rumble of baritone tones that played a mean blues... His name was Tousaint, Hatian man-child carrying the strength of revolution in his loins. He built this business exporting and importing antiques for well to do musemes and private citizens; a kat that had picked himself up from the denizens of projects and that mentality. Our glances commenced to executing the Pas de Deux, we feeling each other out, we sniffing each other out...wondering, asking ourselves questions, at least I am. Bow-legged, brother named Tousaint...revolution locked up in his loins...wow... Beautiful man....earthy masculinity that forced its way into my nostrils. Was he worth my regression? TBC