The Black Shirt Story.

I was pretty drunk.

So were you.

But we were in enough senses, to sleep in two different rooms.

Waking up to myself after a rough night, I step out in a robe, seeing you asleep on the couch, tight.

I come down and sit beside you, for me it was a perfect moment too.

Clad in a deep black shirt and shorts, you seem like a perfect man of all sorts.

Tracing your face with my eyes, how handsome you looked you’ll never realize.

Never wanted to disrupt that perfect moment, in my mind, I wrote this sonnet.

And when you woke up and gave me that look, I knew I couldn’t ask for more.

.

.

.

But then, an hour later, I was blushing while looking at the black shirt and shorts, lying on the floor just like that…

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