Sunset
There have been only a handful of times when I’ve given into wild
abandon in my life.
Where feeling outweighed logic. Experiences where I moved forward with
instinct. Places of no control...
I was an 18 year old girl. Exploring an outdoor pavilion in the summer
sunset of Colorado. Local free thinkers and hippies whirling around the fringes
of society. I walked amongst them, quietly watching the sun slip into the sky.
Dreamlike and ethereal.
A bewitching young bohemian girl wearing a broomstick skirt flitted by
me. She danced bare foot in the breeze. Air picking up the thin
fabric of her tank top, a rise and fall against breasts too beautiful to bother
with a brassiere.
She looked deep into my being and asked if she could braid my
hair.
I instantly felt awake. All of my senses stood upright. Auburn colored
tresses, eyes as amber as the carnelian gem hanging around her swan throat. I
could hear the blood racing through my vein when I inhaled her scent of
sandalwood and vanilla. She made me higher than any hallucinogenics being had
that day.
I murmured, “You can braid my hair.”
Perhaps I told her with serendipitous telepathy.
She pulled me down on the grass facing the sunset, and spread her legs
around me. Her dress fanning out like poppy flower petals, draped around my
sides.
She began to rake her fingers through my long obsidian curls. Singing
lullabies which carried into the wind. I’m certain one of her songs floated
into the stratosphere and became a star.
Each time I felt her fingertips touch my scalp, my skin would prickle
and ache. Her hands were like electric conductors controlling the life in me.
Rendered love drunk from the heady magic that she cast. I began to wish there
was no separation between my back and her breasts. I longed for her thin cotton
shirt to disintegrate.
Braiding down down down. With each weave of hair I could feel her hand
graze my tender flesh. My core started to liquify as I softened around her.
Leaning in closer with a magnetism only the young and eager feel.
I realized by this time there was no hair left to braid, hummingbird fingers had
stopped. Her palms moved down to my hips, as she pressed herself gently against
me.
The only thing left in the universe was her clove cigarette breath,
under my earlobe. Then I felt it...
Damp, cupie bow mouth on my neck.
Heat, like I was being burned from the tips of my toes to every fiber
on my head, rose in wave after wave. Her tongue rested on the pulse, with each
beat she drank me in.
She held me until twilight enveloped us. I never did ask her name...
So now my memory refers to her as “Sunset.”
Gina Manchego Zufall is a multi-medium artist and poet. She has been penning since childhood, and loves nothing more than painting beautiful scenes with the written word.
Gina lives in the wild mountains of Colorado, USA.
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