It’s always your eyelashes.
The pines of a Christmas tree
twinkling from the headlights
of buses driving passed our window.
Broom heads ready to get to work.
It’s always your eyelashes
and the way they curve
to the straightness of a death slide
on a south Devon holiday.
A sunflower folding in half.
A family of spiders giggling on their backs.
It’s always your eyelashes.
Miniature rakes dragging me in.

© Carl Burkitt 2020