Sunset was precisely at 8:43.

The northern wind blew through the balcony doors. I hugged my nightgown tighter around my bosom. My arms intertwined at the back as I grabbed through the laces of my sleeves.

There was a loud kick as the bedroom door swang open. It was number forty-two. A bronzed man, with chiselled if not hardened looks, he had his hair fall down to his tanned revealed shoulders. I grasped the bed-post with both hands, leaning my head to its side, legs crossed, and mind racing.

He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me on my pale chest, his lips going down to suck at my fertile nipples. I grabbed his hair, clenching it tightly, as my fists pushed his head ever so slightly downwards.

Later on, I’d be lying on top of him, a scarlet blanket draped over our nether regions. My head would be on his chest, my arm draped carefully around him. We’d stare at a starless evening, unable to sleep, wondering why a solitary star is not on the sky.

And when dawn breaks, number forty-two leaves. I light my cigarette and watch the rays rise up from the east. As smoke leaves my body, I gaze at the sun, the most sensual star of them all, shining through me.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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