she killed it with kisses and from it she fled

Drawn by the tragedy.
Of crêpe de chine
A cottom veiling.
I structure you.
I fondle your grey flannel.
Seek some softness,
'neath the tunic,
"fuzzy"
But here you are,
Tinted red,
With white edging,
A little brown or maybe black?
You retain the color,
Enter the sleeve,
Made evident,
Escaped at the wrist,
Ceaslessly I fall on your hips,
Wasp-waisted worker,
You flirt!
Encircled by zippers,
Several times I explore your infinite forms,
Parallel.
On your round shoulder,
Elastic lips.
Numerously,
No angle resists.
Clothes for you are a bunch of feathers,
In flannel pashmina,
I crown you with a hat.
Your trousers crease,
Here they're shortened,
Cut horizontal,
Vertical allure,
Dear gabardine,
Cotton netting,
You breathe my transparency,
Wool muslin,
You glide on my shoulder,
Are caught at the waist,
Get cinched with a button,
You pleat, you pinch,
"tension in the textiles"
But also "proportion and volume"
fall, decide!
I foll your lenght, line you with silk crepe,
Balance your rigid, gather your tint.
Handsome in grey jacket, hybrid.
At once, both style and cut,
Garment, such is elegance,
I want to lick this animal skin,
That falls, well-cut, from your round shoulder,
So I gently remove your glasses and hat
And discover behind your haughty look eyes
that glisten like your smooth skin,
In your shrunked trousers, nonchalant.
You do a poor job of hiding, I've caught your eye.
I want to fondle this grey flannel jacket,
Double breasted classic on your slightly puffed chest.
So...... I lift up the T-shirt
that peeks out from the sleeves and see underneath,
You are stark naked,
The marked waist creased and structures so I know,
Despite your shortened trousers revealing your calves,
You dream of me rubbing your feet.
I want to run my fingers along the lines of your sweater...
Cashmere tracing the angles of your breast,
So I raise the veil of your leather belt,
And discover where your firm, flat stomach begins
Trousers which, though baggy, fall perfectly straight,
Filled with cashmere curve and unswerving silk satin,
You dream of my carresses, of feeling my kiss,
I want to hear the sound of six zippers,
Whispering on your unbuttoned crepe shirt.
So I find your functionable part,
In these trousers draping your roaming thigh,
Hinting at the slimness of your legs,
And despide the criss-crossing of these pure lines,
You spread your thighs for me so I can touch,
I want to be in the rolled-up arms of your sweater,
On your forearms, sleeves above the elbows,
It clings yet floats in wool muslin.
On your light grey trousers with their pure line,
It blends practical with pleasant then cinches in,
To the same belt again,
Barely disguised,
Cross and uncross,
Tension of release.
You take pleasure from me and I delight..