An eyelash falls down his cheek,
and I wonder-laugh at the unexpected fall.
It’s black against his skin, as pale as my own,
and nearly so as the dust of snow outside the window.
I expect him to hold it out and bid me make a wish,
but he brushes it off his cheek,
and his eyes don’t follow its path to the hand-brake, as mine do.
I want to lean down and grab it for myself because damn,
if he isn’t going to make a wish I could sure use one.
But when I ask him, he grins at me and asks what I would wish for,
when we have such a future in front of us.
For now I’ll keep it a secret, but I do lean close to him and whisper
that we can put that future to the test, and if it’s a good one,
I’ll pay him back in eyelashes.