Purposely Untitled

The shadows across her porcelain cheeks created a contrast so sharp. Slightly rosy cheeks. Soft on the eyes, no doubt soft to the touch. Pink ears, each holding back their own lock of curly brown hair. Parted just off center, tucked behind those pink ears, perfectly sized pink ears. Wavy curls of sepia strands swept behind those cute, coral colored listeners. Round nose, reddened at the tip from the slight chill in the air. She shivers. Slender form shaking slightly. Her smile warms me, her eyes radiate heat like a hearth. She accepts a cold beer. Hand outstretched, her small palm only an inch from the cuff of her azure plaid. Tiny fingers, barely touching her thumb around the cold bottle. Sweet voice, soft, inviting, warm and comforting. Thank you, she sings at me. The syllables spoken to music I can hear in my mind, my imagination. Her arm still extended, covered in blue plaid with lines of red and gold and black. The bottle travels to her lips. Time stops.

 

Her lips. They form a small O. Kissing the opening of the bottle gently. They do not wrinkle. The soft white skin on her face gives way to a slightly darker shade. Corners of her mouth drawn together in perfect angles.  Her sip complete, the bottle falls back toward the earth. Her mouth flattens from O into a smile, her pearl white teeth show, a gorgeous smile. Dimples to get lost in. Dimples to dive in.

Thanks again.
 I melt. She shivers again, how does the radiation she exudes not warm her on its way to me? I offer my flannel shirt. She accepts. Something like static electricity climbs from my heels to my back. I drape my red flannel across her shoulders. Petite, feminine, smooth shoulders. Swimming in my shirt. It's huge on her tiny frame. Dwarfed by a luxurious lap of excess fabric. Thank you so much. Lyrical as it hits my ears. Her accent is huggable. Her voice adorable.  

Time passes. Glances given, some returned. Smiles and waves. Coffee exchanges hands. Fingers touch. More static electricity. The pads of her finger tips are velvet.

 

The final day. Rain and cold and misery. The weather breaks and the party starts. Confidence rising with blood alcohol ratio. We walk alone towards one end of the fair grounds. We stop for a moment. Her hair tucked behind those ears. My flannel wrapped around her shoulders. My hands reach to her hips. They are curved perfectly. between my thumb and forefinger her hip bone. My thumb pointed downward and inward. I lean over. My neck craned so my forehead meets hers. I purse my lips. She doesn’t. I push my chin forward. She turns her head away and leans back.

I melt. My face is hot. My ears are red. I hurt. She diffuses the tension by scurrying away giggling. Her hips swinging gently back and forth and barely grazing either side of my flannel as it hangs below her waist on covers her wonderfully proportioned butt. The party around me rages. The party inside dies.

Shaken off, determined to relax and enjoy all around me. Our eyes keep meeting. Its magnetism. Bumping into one another, close calls and chance encounters. She smells like a woman ought to. Aroma flickering and tickling my nose.

This night shouldn't end. It does.