One eyelash, one
millimeter
longer than each other eyelash on your left eyelid, bends
at its tip, as it, alone, leans
on my lowest left rib’s ledge, this single filament
holding your bones
to mine. A touch of no touch, a touch
so light the tactile scale’s
needle barely breathes. Then,
attached to an human as it is,
this one eyelash
lashes me there, many times,
and tonight the tiny scars
shine in the blue-stone dark.
