Curl

A gasp.

Eyes - two windowshades snapped
Pupils black, desperate for the light

Breathless, I reach in the darkness
turn on the hotel room heat

Two months and I still forget
that I am away from my home

We'd been having a conversation
in the depths of my unconscious
walking along the cortex and the convex
and concave of my mind
across ridges, meandering through
valleys, and settling, side by side
by a pleasant stream on the lobe-bank

And on my lips
As I awake
are the strangest of words
that startle me
as spoken

"I can still remember the curl
of your eyelashes"