Contested Staring

Not the loitering stare,
Nor the raised corner
Of the mouth, nor flash of fingers
Through the hair, but offer me
Your whispering eyelashes,
Long enough to measure
The distance between each hair,
Smooth enough for thoughts to slip
Through, but upon reflection,
Your mirror-eyes distort
The light peeking inside your crown.
These lashes bat away mine
As gusts from your oriental
Fan clear the dust from my
Imagination. Spare me dainty
Lashings: the flapping of your wings
Hurls tornados in my lungs.
Butterfly Affected, I gasp
And I blink
First.