Your eyelashes curl black and
sweet in my memory,
a fierce gorgeousness
steals the breath from
my heart, and gives it back.
I watch the curling lashes
before me and feel that
breath fail, wait for the
gift to come, but there
is nothing. He is not you;
not even ours, but he
will always have
those same eyelashes,
dark eyes so sweetly downcast,
dark skin dark hair
even the same dark self.
And will I always think
of you when I see him?
~September 16, 2010
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