While daydreaming
during my morning
ritual,
scars aching from
the hot water on my
skin,
Make-up runs into
my hair
my fingertips
start to crinkle
like my eyes used to
whenever our lips met.
I look down on my left
breast
and see a
dark brown
eyelash
resting there
it is not mine.
It has a new meaning now.
I pick it off, blow
it off my finger
I do not make a wish.