He lay before me with that smile on his face; the one that can do no wrong yet means no good.
The white cotton sheet covered up to his waist where it met his golden skin, embracing the contours of his hips.
One arm behind his head to accentuate his perfectly imperfect mess of dark brown hair, as he watched me watching him.
His blue eyes murky yet bright; a stormy sky displayed to the world through this slightly creased work of art.
A piece the museums couldn’t afford.


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