Curl.

A gasp.

Eyes - two window shades 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 wake,
are the strangest of words
that startle me
as spoken --

"I can still remember the curl
of your eyelashes."