Twenty-nine

White flesh and black hair before the first lover, when she still believes in wishing on falling stars.  She lays in green fields with speckles of gold and blue, which often wind up in her hair or clothing.  Black skies with flickers and smudges of white.

White flesh and black hair lies there looking at the infinity above her and dreams of being ravaged by a man.  She does not know what exactly ravaged means, but she definitely wants it.  She closes her eyes and imagines the taste of flesh on her lips.

Green-blue streams pass by.  The swelling orange-red harvest moon below the horizon.  The blackness of the sky and the white of the stars and Milky Way, her only comfort.  She does not want to close her eyes.  She counts the stars that fly by her.