last night in the pub i saw a tall, slender bloke wearing blue trousers and polished leather shoes. He had sandy blonde hair and had on a bulky blue jumper, the sleeves of which he'd pushed up his arms over his elbows, revealing long long long slender arms covered in smooth white skin. arms that have cleary never done a days work in their life.
my heart skipped about 6 beats and when rhythm finally resumed, my pulse went through the roof. surely it can't be him? i know those arms. but he can't be here? look again.
no, not him. there was no way it could have been. this fellow has straigh hair, so not him. but my god for a moment there...
4 comments:
I wear blue. It matches my mood. However, I wasn't in Bristol last night.
Nor do you wear highly polished shoes or have slender, pale arms that look as though they've never done a hard day's work. You have the strong, muscled arms of a man who knows the value of toil and has repeaed the rewards of his labor. No amigo, i thought it was my Gentleman of days gone by.
...and the man who knows the value of toil and reaped the rewards of his labour would like them back now please.
Hey, I toil like a motherfucker! You're not my sister. This is not my life. There is no spoon.
Post a Comment