Parade of the Generations

Seizing his suit around his waist,

The golden boy with the golden hair

Wearing a golden suit bathing his golden skin

On the golden sands under the golden sun.

Creeping in on the sun’s advancement.

His skin is like a visual enchantment.

His jaw was open and then closed and again talking.

Breathing or pride rose like his chest.

Light glistened.

Arms battled over his side.

Turning his face and with it his nose down but to the side.

The whole time his hair was blowing earlier in the morning he woke up.

Supposing what he might do for the day,

I followed him to the bathroom.

Before he could go anywhere he had to stretch. 

His skin was still covered with sleep.

Breaking his skin away,

Underneath was what we really consider morning with the sun rise.

Leaning up,

His waist was bent.

His covers and shorts rode down to his hip.

Nothing extra only the sinew that holds their bodies together.

The bottom of his stomach is showing

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