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.