There he stands, sweat glistening on his face, warm-ups are over, time for the match to begin, he slowly removes his t-shirt, bends down, reaches into his bag, pulls out the jersey, with muscular arms raised up, brings the jersey down over his black curly hair, sighs deeply, this is an important game, long, strong, hands, slides the shorts down to his feet, playfully kicks them off, picks up the black satiny boxers, up the calves, rippled thighs, over a beautiful rear end, tucks the jersey into the boxers, bows his head in quiet meditation, looks to the audience, smiles at the love of his life, and takes the field.Birth sign: Taurus
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Mystyblu.