the lost man chronicles
65. illuminated stranger
There was a beautiful golden hue gleaming off the setting sun as we rolled home last night. I yearned to turn and simply gawk at the attractive woman sitting next to me, if only to see how the incoming radiance illuminated her graceful features.
For half the ride I strained to glance inconspicuously sideways just to catch a glimpse of the glare wafting over her.
I wanted to stare, not for libidinous purposes, but to see how the rays lightened her hair and flushed out the ridges of the pout of her light red lips, and how the tips of her polished fingers glimmered as she brushed back the tress which had slipped over her shoulder.
From the few seconds of a chance I had to glean before I sat down to begin this elusive dance, I recalled that her complexion was a lithe-linen olive brown. Oh! How I frowned, pining to see her golden cheeks complement the falling day, as I lied to her by feigning to look away.
Alas, I had no means to gaze without suspicion. And, thus, I simply let the attrition of a better opportunity to seize her aesthetically escape with the prosaic passage of time.
she, her, me .64 66. merciless beauty