eos

when your eyelashes curl i forget

and then your hazel shoots straight, marble hard, stinging flashes
and pierced by this i forget again and this is understandable

and your hands are fine.

when your fingers slip slim and precise,
practiced, into spaces between night and dawn, places of hush or murmur, 

that golden ring spreads peached air upon
our now dewed, now heavy and i have no memory

and this is a day, again